The Seamstress's Hidden Kiss
by Jessah82
Summary: Charlotte Leyton is a talented and seasoned costume seamstress at Disney Studios. Ignoring all opposition, she continues to sprint toward her dreams of advancing herself as a one-day designer. But there's one thing she can't outrun - the devastating fate of "the real Peter Pan," Bobby Driscoll.
1. Saying Goodbye Means Going Away

**A/N: This is my first "RPF" written in honor of a young man I have recently learned about and cried tears over - Bobby Driscoll, one of America's very first "child star syndrome" cases in an era when no one knew how to handle them. I have done as much research on Bobby as I can get my hands on as an amateur author, and I write about him as respectfully as possible. It is my prayer that I portray him with the accuracy he deserves. I hope for the same in regards to information on Disney Studios in Burbank, and the time period of which I write. I have no firsthand knowledge of either, only a passion for Cold War-era history and a teeth-grinding OCD for keeping details straight. For some of this, I've obviously had to improvise, so please overlook any small matter I might have gotten wrong about the time period or about working for Disney :)**

 _ **Disclaimer: This is a WORK OF FICTION that involves an original character's perspective of real-life people who are now mostly dead. The perspectives and opinions expressed here belong only to my character as she might have seen the world, and do not seek to cast an ill light on any person or any institution. Any inaccuracies noted should be taken as fault of my own and not to reflect events as they actually might have happened. In other words, this is JUST A STORY.**_

 **April 1, 1968**

" _It was the third of June, another sleep dusty delta day_ …"

Bobby Gentry's husky voice crooned out the lyrics for about the third time that week over the portable Victrola on Charlotte's messy worktable. Charlotte squinted, despite her reading glasses, to make out the tiny stitches she was using the seam-ripper on. Yet again, one of the young, big-eyed seamstresses from the sewing pool had incorrectly connected two parts of a pattern together.

"Oh for crying out loud, why are you constantly listening to that album? It's so depressing!" Opal Collins appeared at the door of the work room, startling Charlotte out of her peaceful reverie. "Since you've been blessed by the almighty Alice Davis by having your own sewing room, you can at least have some fun in here!"

"I'm having fun." Charlotte replied, peering up over the tops of her glasses, "And this is not depressing. It's realist, it's… reflective. Or something like that..." Charlotte sighed, setting down the fabric she was working on to give her straining eyes a break. She looked back at Opal, moving a strand of tumbled-down hair out of her face. "Artsy? At least compared to the Beatles." She couldn't help sliding that remark in, smirking. Opal could never abide anyone mocking the Beatles. But to keep her friend on track, Charlotte straightened up her face again quickly. "Need something?"

Seemingly ignoring the Beatles remark, Opal went on. "Yes. I need to tell you I'm leaving, and I'm the last one out here. So hurry up and get out of here yourself. You're always working over," Opal shook her head in a pitying way. "It's why you need to meet Arthur, Lotte! Get a husband, somebody to go home to besides your mother."

"Oh, not the time for that conversation again Opal," Charlotte groaned, picking back up her work. "Go on ahead. Thirty more minutes, and I'll close up the department and be out."

"Mm hmm." Opal clucked her tongue. "Always 'thirty more minutes.' See you in the morning."

"Goodnight."

With that, Opal closed the door behind her.

" _And now you tell me Billy Joe's jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge_."

Charlotte hummed the line along with Miss Gentry, content with the idea of pressing on through her To Do pile. When the sewing pool outside her work room was buzzing with activity during the day – which usually meant orders being barked out from movie production assistants passing through, or the other seamstresses gossiping and laughing – Charlotte liked to keep her door open. She enjoyed being tucked away in her own space a lot of the time, but she also missed the bustle of the main sewing room. As evenings would set in, however, and the other seamstresses would drift off for home one-by-one, she preferred to be nestled away in the comfort of her happy place, listening to her records and not becoming distracted and jumpy by every little shadow she might see darting across the quiet sewing room after dark. This was best achieved by closing her door.

Opal wasn't exaggerating about the prestige of having a private workspace. Charlotte had put her time in in the sewing pool the last few years before Mr. Disney's costume designer, Mrs. Davis herself, had picked her out along with a select few others to work on design troubleshooting, fixing mistakes made by other seamstresses, and piecing together the most complicated pieces for Disney's films. Charlotte knew she had certainly worked hard enough for a promotion, and she also knew she possessed the skill for it. But that didn't stop the other young women in the sewing pool from whispering their own theories to one another.

"Well what do you expect? She's an old maid. Something has to make her feel better about being twenty-nine and still stuck here with no ring on her finger…"

"Not that a sensible ring would fit."

A ripple of giggles seemed to follow the snarky comments every time, and every time, Charlotte would act as though she hadn't heard them. They were all just girls, the other seamstresses. Fresh out of college and biding time for the right man to come along and whisk them off to a life of domestic duty one by one. A few of the married girls stayed on, like Opal had. Ms. Alice herself, everyone seemed to forget, was a married woman with her own career. But the majority of the seamstresses, regarded merely as worker bees, usually left the work force for housewifery. For all the copies of _The Feminine Mystique_ being sold at the bookstores and all the bra burnings being reported on the street corners of L.A., the sewing pool at the Disney Studios in Burbank was little more than a waiting room for marriage. And Charlotte Leyton had been waiting the longest, in the eyes of onlookers, who all seemed to imagine her glancing up eagerly every time a potential groom entered said waiting room only to choose a mousy, small-waisted twenty-year-old to usher out instead. "So sad – although after all, no husband wants a wife with hips _that_ wide…"

Her own mother had even said as much, and more times than she could count. But thankfully for Charlotte, she didn't necessarily care about most of what her mother said; and besides, it could only be a true idiot who would squander the chance to work for Disney just to stay home and iron trousers. Charlotte knew the truth about what wasted youth really looked like in the modern world, but she elected to let all these girls figure that out for themselves in about ten years. They always did.

But Opal was right about the fact that she did need to stop working so late, no matter how much she enjoyed her job. If for no other reason, it left her too spent to savor her evenings at home.

 _"And me, I spend a lot of time picking flowers up on Choctaw Ridge… and throw them into the muddy water off the Tallahatchie Bridge."_

Charlotte took the breezy instrument strings that wound down into the closing chords of the song as a good sign for her to stop working, and she practically tossed the doublet-in-process away from her, leaning back in her chair and allowing her head to fall backwards. She stared up at the ceiling for a moment before closing her eyes. She was done for today. The velvet doublet correction could wait until tomorrow, because tonight, there was actually a book on her nightstand at home that she did want to finish. The idea was welcoming after such an unusually busy day.

She sat with her head leaned back for probably ten minutes - or was it longer? The comforting crackle of the Victrola as it lapsed into silence seemed to hypnotize her. She was complacent just to sit in the quiet and rest.

"Lotte?"

Half asleep and not entirely mindful, Charlotte forced herself to sit up, rubbing her eyes before opening them. When she did, she nearly came out of her chair.

A man was standing in front of her sewing machine.

How he had gotten in there, she had no idea. All the doors in the main sewing room locked automatically from the inside for security, and as far as Charlotte knew, everyone had gone home except for the maintenance man.

And looking at this guy's shabby appearance, she could tell he was no employee of Disney's.

"Who—who are you, how did you get in here?!" she hissed, eyes darting toward her yardstick as she backed her chair farther away from the sewing machine.

The man clearly had to be a bum from the back alleyway who had managed to get in here without so much as making a sound. He looked confused, eyes glassy as they slid around the room lazily. His long silence finally ended when he let out a guttural moan and staggered forward toward her, the work table still thankfully between them.

"Lotte. It is you, isn't it?"

Charlotte pushed her chair back even further, by this point almost reaching the big black telephone she kept in the righthand corner behind her, perched on an end table. "I… I don't know how you know my name, but you can't be in here." She reached for the receiver.

"… I don't know what's happening."

Charlotte paused for a moment, rattled by the confusion in his voice, but forced her attention back to the phone. Instinct told her she couldn't get sucked in to this vagrant's words. His tone could change on a dime, and he might take advantage of her distraction and overpower her all too easily. She fumbled to pick up the receiver and turn the rotary dial to the correct numbers. The action felt heavy and clumsy as though her fingers were submerged in molasses.

She failed to realize, as she was doing this, that the man's eyes had come to rest on a birthday card from last year she had been given by a few friends that was perched on the edge of her work table. "L-o-t-t-e. Right?"

Drumming her fingers impatiently against the phone table, Charlotte glanced over at him again, slightly bewildered at his behavior, waiting a seeming eternity for the call to be connected. "What…? Now you're trying to spell it, too?"

It was almost a smile that lit up his tired eyes as he turned back to her. "You listened to me. You still spell it… with the 't-e' at the end…" he trailed off, watching her face with a furrowed brow, as though confused himself about where his words came from.

Suddenly, a strange warmth began to materialize in the pit of Charlotte's stomach. The only conversation she had ever had about changing her nickname years ago from "Lot" to "Lotte" was…

She studied his face again, noting how it had changed and how much he had aged, yet at the same time… of course. Of course! How could she not have seen it before? Heard the familiarity in his voice underneath the odd-sounding layers of rasp and disuse?

"Burbank Police Department," a too-cheerful voice from dispatch had picked up on the other end of the phone line.

"…Nevermind. I'm sorry." Charlotte's hand trembled as she set the receiver back in the cradle. Composing herself as best she could, she looked back up. "Bobby? Bobby Driscoll…"

The light flickered again in his eyes then, as though a fire was stoked. "My name. Say it again. Please."

Charlotte stood, perplexed. "Bobby. Or Bob. Isn't that what you wanted to go by now?"

But he seemed to either not hear her question, or to purposefully ignore it. Shadows claimed his his face once more in a strange, almost tangible way. "Something… something's happened. You've got to help me, Lotte."

Straightening her back, Charlotte kept her eyes trained on him. Something was different here - something she couldn't quite put her finger on. "What? What do you want me to d—"

"Please help me. It all went wrong. I didn't mean for…" he trailed off.

A chill swept over her suddenly. "… Bobby, you… you must need help again. A-and it's alright, I'll help you. Let me, um… call somebody. I'll call your mother, what's her number?" Charlotte turned back to the phone, picking it up to bring it over and set it on the work table between them.

It was an action that took maybe one or two seconds.

That's why she couldn't understand how, when she turned back around, he was simply gone.

Her door was still closed.


	2. Come With Me, Where Dreams Are Born

**Summer 1950 – Fall 1952**

Charlotte met Bobby the first day she ever came to the Disney Studios in Burbank with her Aunt Lila. Her mother's oldest sister, an expert Disney seamstress with crippling arthritis in her hands from years of intricate needlework, had been reassigned by Alice Davis to the Fitting department. Taking measurements all day was much less grueling work, even if also less pay for her aunt to sustain herself on. But Aunt Lila never complained… and she insisted upon bringing Charlotte to work with her the summer Charlotte was eleven.

"Now I've cleared it with Mrs. Davis, of course. She knows all about the situation. And provided you don't make trouble for her, which I promised her you wouldn't," Aunt Lila turned from setting up her work space for the day to regard Charlotte with her signature raised eyebrows, "she will allow you to help me. I need it, anyway."

Charlotte sighed and fumbled with the charm bracelet her father had bought her last week. She knew "the situation" her aunt was referring to was the matter of Charlotte's mother and the day Aunt Lila had come over for a visit to find her sister passed out on the living room couch and Charlotte in the kitchen failing at cooking dinner in time for her father to arrive home from work. Charlotte had dutifully hidden the wine bottles as best she could, but Aunt Lila had found them… and promptly sent Charlotte to the next door neighbor's house for the rest of the evening. Charlotte never knew exactly what transpired afterward between Aunt Lila and her parents, but she knew that since that afternoon, every effort possible was seemingly made to keep her away from home during the day with her alcoholic mother. Despite his sudden overload of doting, even her father never talked about it. "The situation" was the only whispered-about remnant of it between him and her Aunt Lila.

She stood now just inside the door, looking around at her aunt's neat and precise work area with her tape measures lined up across her work table, her pin cushion full of colorful pin-heads waiting to be used for the day, and scrawled measurement reminders taped over part of one wall.

"So, what's Mr. Disney's newest movie?" Charlotte asked dutifully as she came in and plopped down in an overstuffed chair.

"Oh, that's never a simple answer. Mr. Disney's one to have far more irons in the fire than anyone around here can keep up with." Her aunt bustled about, readying things for the day. "We're working on several things, but today we're going to be working on _Peter Pan_."

" _Peter Pan_?" Charlotte reached for a piece of candy on her aunt's worked table but resulted in getting her hand slapped away. "Wendy's dress...?"

"No, not today." Aunt Lila continued talking, turning her back to Charlotte as she took a water pitcher to the sink in the corner to fill and set out on a table close to the door. "We're actually going to be measuring for Peter Pan himself."

Charlotte took the opportunity to swipe two yellow orbs, hoping for lemon and not banana. "Or don't you mean _herself_ , since Peter Pan's always a girl."

"Not this time. Mr. Disney's finally going to do what should've been done years ago – shoot a Peter Pan movie with a boy in the lead. It's an animation picture, of course, but still. A real boy will be modeling for the sketches, and he'll be voicing the part. This morning, we'll be measuring young Bobby for his costume," Aunt Charlotte turned back around and smiled satisfactorily, as though the world was now made right by Peter Pan being played by a boy.

Peter Pan had always been an interesting enough story, but Charlotte felt her heart sink a little at the prospect of measuring a boy for dull old boy clothes versus a pretty dress for a female actress. "I don't know Bobby."

"Bobby Driscoll," Aunt Lila picked up her yardstick and pointed up toward one of the many Disney film posters hanging about her work room, tapping one of them.

Charlotte eyed the _Treasure Island_ poster cynically. "Pirates are dull," she sighed. "All the boys at school fancy them right now."

"Well. They'll be fancying them more after July when the movie hits the theaters," Aunt Lila brought over one of her many tape measures and pin cushions to the measuring pedestal. "I'm hoping you'll learn this trade, Charlotte. Sewing is invaluable to the world, particularly the world of film. You're lucky enough to live smack dab in the middle of it. And wouldn't this be just the perfect place for you when you're older? Keep you well and out of trouble."

The heaviness in the air was palpable as Charlotte knew that once again, her aunt referred to preserving her from becoming the ne'er to do well copy of her mother.

Aunt Lila turned then, hands on her hips, to regard Charlotte's waistline. "And really, we must do something about that. Let's see." Picking up the tape measure, she approached Charlotte and measured around her waist. "This summer, I expect to see one half inch disappear per week. You're past the point of baby fat being a flattering thing, Lot."

Charlotte, ignoring the comment, wrinkled her nose at her aunt's use of her family nickname. Likely mistaking this for hurt feelings, however, Aunt Lila affectionately took her face in her hands. "But you've got the sweetest green eyes a girl could have. And that pretty, auburn hair…" Aunt Lila smoothed a strand of it between her fingers. "You won't be a little girl for much longer, Charlotte. We've just got to get ready for that."

A flush hit Charlotte's cheeks and she averted her eyes. Attention never felt comfortable to her, or at least when it was issued by anyone other than her father, who usually had far too much on his plate to be able to give it as regularly as Charlotte craved it. But the type of attention she received from Aunt Lila was usually borne of pity… and that's what she hated.

Aunt Lila could doubtlessly read her displeasure as she sighed, releasing Charlotte's face quickly. "I know you don't want to be here. But this is all for your own good. Everything we do for you, Charlotte Olivia, is for your own good. Now try to learn a little today and have some fun. You can surely get glad in the same pants you got mad in," she chided with the same old line she'd used since Charlotte was a little girl.

It was at this moment that someone knocked on the door frame, and as the door had been open, Charlotte could only hope that whoever was waiting there hadn't heard much of the exchange.

Aunt Lila gave her forehead a brisk kiss before turning toward the interlopers. A woman, very nearly Aunt Lila's own age, stood smiling with her hand on the shoulder of a boy.

The same boy, Charlotte noted, that was on the movie poster she'd just studied.

"Good morning, Isabel. Thank you for bringing him so early," Aunt Lila greeted cheerfully. "Good morning, Bobby."

"Hi," Bobby smiled sleepily, visibly working hard to be a good sport.

She didn't blame him. Smiling and cheerfulness first thing in the morning annoyed Charlotte, too. Then again, everything seemed to annoy or anger her these days.

"Oh, it's all very well," the woman, presumably Bobby's mother, perpetuated all the smiling as she gave him a brief pat on the back. "We've got a busy day today, so we don't mind getting this done early. Bobby, I'll be waiting for you outside."

"Okay," he gave a brief wave and came over to climb the fitting pedestal, apparently well-practiced in this routine.

It was then that he looked over and spotted Charlotte, who was unable to dodge his eyes quickly enough. "Hello. Are you Miss Lila's niece?"

"That she is," Aunt Lila cut in before Charlotte could speak. "Bobby, meet Charlotte. Charlotte, this is Bobby Driscoll," her aunt said in a tone that told her she should be excited. "Do you remember me taking you to the picture show to see _Song of the South_ a few years ago? Bobby was in that, too!"

Charlotte nodded, feigning boredom.

"Well how about you make yourself useful and hand me the pins? I'll show you how to measure a man for pants."

Charlotte was already in the process of getting the pin cushion, but froze at the explanation of what they were about to do.

She could only imagine the expression she was wearing, because she heard Bobby chuckle. "It's okay, it… doesn't mean I have to take the ones I'm wearing off," he assured her, a hint of a flush coloring his own cheeks. "Miss Lila's really good that way. She can get a good measurement no matter what I have on."

Relief washed over Charlotte then as she walked over with the pin cushion, embarrassment taking its place. This boy surely was bold, to be able to talk of taking off pants and things with a girl present.

"I've been doing fittings since I was really young," he continued as if she had asked him to elaborate. "They go by pretty fast now, most of the time. But I have to have them a lot these days, because-"

"You're growing so quickly," Aunt Lila smiled. "Alright, Lot. This is called inseam measurement."

Charlotte watched as her aunt went over the various types of measurements that went into forging an accurate pattern for the seamstresses to work with for a costume. Bobby was patient through the rest of the session, doing his part to help make the learning easy.

At the end, he hopped off the pedestal and came over to Charlotte, who took an instinctive step back. Bobby didn't seem to notice.

"I've gotta meet with Mr. Disney to talk about this date I'm supposed to take Kathy on for a photo shoot. You know Kathryn Beaumont? She's playing Alice for _Alice & Wonderland_! She'll do swell at it, too. Anyway, I think the idea is for me to be ushering her around Hollywood like she hasn't been here before. Kind of her new rabbit-hole, you know?"

The ease with which this kid conversed with someone he barely knew took Charlotte by surprise.

"I haven't read the book, so I really don't know anything about Alice or Wonderland," she replied flatly.

"It's really good, I should bring you my copy. It'll give you something to do when things are slow in here with your aunt," he smiled. "Well maybe I'll see you around? I'm here a lot."

"Maybe so," Charlotte replied noncommittally, suspicious as she peered at him out of the corner of her eye. He was a boy close to her age after all, and boys her age meant trouble. Those at school teased her mercilessly, and there was surely no reason for this one to be any different unless he was thinking of playing a mean trick later.

But Bobby only smiled once more at her, and headed out the door to presumably meet up with his mother.

Aunt Lila clucked her tongue. "He's sweetness itself, that boy. And at thirteen! That's usually the age when they start to become truly nasty."

"Oh I'm sure he's nasty enough," Charlotte replied, folding her arms across her chest. "You have to be most careful for the 'nice' ones. It's all a front, you know. Bet he's a right little bastard when he's not here."

"Charlotte Leyton!" Aunt Lila's back straightened and her eyes flew open wide. "Where did you hear such language?!"

"Boys at school," Charlotte answered, nonplussed. "The 'nice' ones."

But Bobby wasn't nasty - not even a little. Despite Charlotte's guarded behavior toward him the first part of the summer, he persisted in talking to her every time he was at the studio. It was infuriatingly endearing how he constantly tried to engage her, pulling her out of her shell as though he could physically see it encasing her.

One week, he brought his Academy Award to show her, "Because maybe you've never seen one before," and another week he brought her cookies his mom had made, sneaking them to her in a way that told Charlotte he knew well her aunt would confiscate them.

He wasn't a thing like any of the boys at school, and after she recovered from the shock of it all, Charlotte began to embrace it and let her guard down. Maybe, at last, a friend.

Before long, she was venturing down to the studio cafeteria to eat lunch when Bobby was there instead of hiding away in her aunt's work room, and he always waved her over to sit with him. Cafeteria food at Disney was much better than a mushy, homemade sandwich anyway.

Of course their contact always ended when they left the studio, which could occasionally leave her feeling a little sad during the times of sitting on her front porch, watching gangs of kids playing outside together or walking down the street. Bobby's friendliness and constant exuberance, despite her own mood on any given day, was a life force she found herself missing easily. But the very fact that Charlotte finally knew someone who, if he were around, would have proudly played next to her gave her the energy to keep watching the happiness instead of retreating back inside.

By summer's end, the wariness and reluctance Charlotte had carried with her to Disney Studios in June had been replaced with bone-tingling excitement upon reaching the door every morning with Aunt Lila. Even though Bobby's warmth had helped, Charlotte had also been on the receiving end of Mrs. Davis's praise a time or two for her eerily accurate measurements. She had even had some time to spend watching the seamstresses weave beautiful, well-fitting magic from scrawled numbers and pencil sketches. Perhaps it was due to this enthusiasm Charlotte had finally begun to exude that Mrs. Davis gave her consent for Aunt Lila to continue to let her come in after school for a couple of hours when fall came around.

"Isn't she the very best?!" Charlotte beamed as she walked to Bobby's parents' car with him one evening after they'd each spent a full day at the studio. His typically well-coiffed hair was sticking up in a perfect mess after having been tucked for several hours into the green _Peter Pan_ cap he had been wearing for his publicity stills.

"Everyone here is," he replied. "Oh, and look! What do you think about how it turned out?" He handed over a copy of _Movie Life_ magazine, folded open to show the "Hollywood date" spread he and Kathryn Beaumont had shot earlier in the summer.

"I like it," Charlotte nodded decisively. "Even if you do look a little silly on your knee like that, singing," she chuckled, pointing to one of the pictures.

Bobby flushed. "I know. That was kind of a drag, but… oh well, Uncle Walt liked it, and that's what counts to me."

"You really love Mr. Disney, don't you?" she asked. "He seems really nice, the times I've seen him around."

"Oh, he's the best. Every movie I've gotten to make, every swell thing I've been involved in here, it's all thanks to him. Say, isn't your birthday next month, close to Halloween?" he asked suddenly.

Taken offguard, Charlotte paused, surprised he remembered. "Yes… it is. I'll be twelve."

"We should have a party. Maybe me, you, and Kathryn. Plus a few of my friends, too. I might even bring my girlfriend so you can meet her," he gave a coy smirk.

Charlotte felt a certain unfamiliar burn began at the back of her throat, and it startled her so much that she shook her head. How silly. Of course Bobby had a girlfriend. He'd talked about her before.

"No?" he asked, sounding a little hurt.

"No! I mean… yes, a party sounds very sweet, Bobby. I wasn't shaking my head about that, I was just… thinking about something else," she flushed. "Of course you know you don't have to do something so big for me."

"Why not? You're my friend, Lot."

Charlotte smiled. "Yeah… I guess I am."

"Oh, and by the way," Bobby paused, just a few feet from the car his dad was waiting for him in. "You know Lot from the Bible, right?"

She blinked in surprise and confusion. "I don't… really read the Bible much. Who is she?"

He chuckled. "Well, first thing, Lot was a 'he', and trust me, it's not a happy story. My folks and I go to church every week, and I've heard plenty of sermons about the guy. Let's just say, I think if you're gonna go by 'Lot,' you ought to spell it with a 'te' on the end, like the last part of 'Charlotte'. L-o-t-t-e. You know? To set you apart from _him_. And it's actually kind of pretty. Well, see you next week!" Bobby waved, and took off into the car, leaving Charlotte to stare blankly.

That was all it took for her to spend Grammar class the next day writing, over and over again on her notebook, "Lotte." She added flourishes to the "L" she'd never made before, and angled the double "t", crossing both letters with one stroke. Bobby was right - the word looked classy and pretty. L-o-t had been quick enough to write in her younger years, and she'd never particularly cared for the nickname anyway. But now, it didn't seem so bad at all.

By the end of class, she had found a tiny corner of the back flap of her composition book that was clear of all other scribblings. On this she wrote another name in small, uncertain letters, turning her attention from her own in order to study it.

 _Bobby_.

* * *

But her birthday party didn't, couldn't, happen.

Bobby had had the best of intentions, but his grueling schedule - between rehearsing for the Disney Christmas Show and shooting a picture called _When I Grow Up_ for a film company called Horizon - consumed nearly all his time. In a sweet and apologetic gesture, he did bring Charlotte a candled cupcake to the studio the day she turned twelve. This once, Aunt Lila didn't even protest her sugar indulgence.

Charlotte kept that cupcake wrapper for about six months afterward. She finally threw it away, as she suddenly found herself doing with just about everything that had once had value to her, around the time her mother went from occasional drunk to social spectacle.

Her mom's drunkenness began once more to spiral out of control. Marlyss Leyton could increasingly be counted upon to wreak havoc at Charlotte's father's company parties once her wine glass was filled, garnering him judgmental stares from his colleagues throughout the next week. Charlotte could see her dad's bitterness practically oozing out his pores, and soon, the constant fighting commenced. This, of course, brought on more drinking. Charlotte imagined theirs to be the only well-manicured lawn in the Sunny Valley housing development upon which a woman had ever spent an entire night sitting in the grass wearing nylon stockings, a bathrobe, and hair curlers, hurling slurred insults through the window at her husband.

It was a wonder the police hadn't been called. Charlotte had watched out her bedroom window with a sickening feeling as the neighbors had turned their lights off and quickly pulled the shades all up and down the street.

And that wasn't the only thing spiraling downward.

The weight comments Charlotte had heard from the time she was a child were finally beginning to grate. The other girls in her class who had been pudgy along with her in grade school were beginning to form smaller waists, seemingly overnight. But for Charlotte, her extra pudge went nowhere. Her large green eyes and pixie nose she had been so complimented on years earlier went unremarked upon once puberty hit, and there was the matter of her too-large bosom and rounded out backside. At nearly thirteen, she was a full size 12 beside the other girls her age who remained 4's, 6's, and 8's at best. What was worse, it wasn't slowing down. Charlotte had begun to do everything from skip lunch to run laps in her backyard until she could barely drag herself back onto the porch, but with no results.

During most of that next year, Bobby was at the studio frequently, neck-deep in work for _Peter Pan_. He would always wave at her and say hello when he passed by, but their contact typically ended there as he was constantly rushing from one part of the building to another. More and more, there seemed to be other far more polished girls around the studio – from other actresses to Disney employees' daughters to friends of Bobby's he occasionally brought with him. The cuteness of his girlfriend Patricia was legendary, and Charlotte hated the girl for it without even knowing her. She convinced herself that it was her own imperfections that really kept Bobby away, rather than his grueling schedule, and her assumption kept her annoyed just enough with him so that she could stop caring about the fact that he wasn't coming by Aunt Lila's work room to see her as much anymore.

Angry adolescence ensued with a vengeance, and with it, Charlotte's incessant urge to throw things away. If her father ever noticed her burrowed underneath her bed most nights, pulling out boxes and bags of mementos from her childhood to go through and clean out by half, he never commented on it. He seemed way too busy running interference for his inebriated wife in their social circle.

With Charlotte's seemingly fresh perspective on her material possessions came a complete disconnect to her appearance. The weight remained, and it was easier to just not even try to be pretty anymore. She began to settle for simple ponytails and plain, drab colors to keep the attention on her body to a minimum.

Even she noted the irony, however, between her own fashion habits and what she could do with fabric in her mind. Charlotte emerged into a doldrums she might have remained in for all time had it not been for continuing to work at Disney three times a week on through 1951. It remained the one place she could park her cloud outside of and keep busy doing what she loved – which by this point, had expanded into helping seamstresses sew a few of the simpler aspects of costumes, as well as polishing her own dress designs. They weren't sketches to be taken seriously by anyone yet, but Charlotte kept them in a shoebox – very soon the last remaining thing under her bed – knowing somewhere deep down, through all her angst, that she would later be able to bring them back out. At Disney, there was a chance of this dream coming true.

The entire year felt like an enormous face-dive off a cliff. But when Charlotte's father had finally had enough and left without a word one Spring night in 1952, it felt like the final blow. He didn't tell his family where he had gone, but it was a moot point a month later when divorce papers were served.

Charlotte stayed away from the studio for nearly a month after his abandonment. Aunt Lila took both her and her mother in to live with her, and the reality of what her alcoholism had cost them all sobered Charlotte's mother up almost instantly. No one Charlotte knew had divorced parents, and she hoped above all things that they wouldn't have to. But the absence of her steady rock of a father felt like the absence of the very ground beneath her feet.

The constant, dull pain in her bones was unlike anything Charlotte had ever even experienced before. The moment she returned from school in the evenings she would crawl into bed, underneath heavy covers in the middle of 80-degree weather, and lose herself in books. Her emotions vacillated between anger, denial, and profound sorrow, which exhausted her from paying much attention to anything else. Aunt Lila thankfully left her in peace most of the time, despite Charlotte often sensing her aunt's worried presence in the doorway of the guest room several times an evening.

The darkness bore down without relief until one night, a knock came to the bedroom door.

Charlotte kept her nose buried in her book, knowing that if her mom or her aunt wanted to come in, they would plunge ahead without a response anyway.

She was right. In bustled Aunt Lila. "Charlotte? Get up," her aunt came over and pulled the covers off of her.

"Wait, what-?" Charlotte scrambled to cover herself again,

"Get up, put your school dress back on. You have company. And for the love of God, comb your hair out and leave it down. What am I always telling you?" Aunt Lila went over and opened the closet door.

"I don't want to get dressed! And who's _here_? You know I don't know people," she quipped, rubbing her arms and blinking in surprise.

"Bobby Driscoll's here, that's who," her aunt hissed. "The nicest boy you know, and a _celebrity_! We can't be backwards." She pulled out a gingham dress. "Here. And here." She set Charlotte's saddle oxfords down next to it. "I don't like you in print dresses usually, they're not flattering. But this one matches your eyes and makes it look like your mother has good taste for you, so put it on. Just right now, Charlotte!"

Charlotte sat staring with wide eyes, heart racing until her aunt punctuated her last sentence by tossing a pair of socks at her she had just taken from the drawer. "Snap out of it. I said you'd be down in ten minutes."

She stumbled off the bed, quickly redressing and putting on her shoes, going over to the mirror and doing the best she could with her hair. The humidity of the evening thankfully caused it to form waves in all the right places, so Charlotte snapped in a barrette at her temple, which was the most fashionable thing she'd done to her hair in over a year, and was bounding down the stairs after her aunt in far fewer than the allotted ten minutes.

Her aunt's forced smile once she'd descended reminded her that once again, she'd taken the stairs too heavily in earshot of a guest. But Charlotte didn't care. For the first time in a month, she felt the blood coursing through her veins again.

She stopped short just before reaching the parlor, almost afraid of her own enthusiasm, and took a deep breath before proceeding around the corner.

Bobby was standing there in the center of the room, studying one of her aunt's collected Impressionist paintings. Hearing her, he turned.

"Lotte…"

Charlotte stepped into the room and crossed it, feeling the warmth of Bobby's presence seep back into her rebuilt walls like water into an old stiff sponge, making them soft and crumbly again. She couldn't stop herself from falling into his offered embrace and wishing for all the world she could just live there.

"Lotte, I'm so sorry. I-I didn't know, until Mrs. Davis finally told me. I hope you don't mind I asked her, but I didn't know why you hadn't been at the studio…" she felt the comforting vibration of his voice as he hugged her, and couldn't stop tears from springing to her eyes.

No doubt, if Aunt Lila was still standing at the doorway, she would be appalled at Charlotte's complete lack of boundaries with a boy; but again, Charlotte's ability to care slid right off.

"Awww, Lotte, don't…. don't cry like that…" Charlotte felt Bobby slightly stiffen with what was probably surprise and uncertainty upon hearing her sniffle, though he kept his arms tight; but she pulled away finally, not wanting to put him in the awkward position of trying to comfort her.

"I'm sorry, I…" but the more she tried to stop crying, the harder it was, and finally she sank down onto a nearby couch, holding her head in her hands and letting out a full sob, much to her own chagrin. As miserable as she had been since her father had left, she had tried hard not to cry, afraid of this very thing – being unable to stop.

What was it about this gentle, easy-going boy that always brought out her all her vulnerability?

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…" she made an almost comical attempt at forming the words through her tears. After a spell of silence, she was afraid of looking up and seeing that he'd left her in the room to blubber like a fool by herself. But a moment later, his shadow fell across her and she glanced up to see him holding out a handkerchief.

"It's okay. My mom, um… told me to come with this, because you probably would be pretty upset. Something like… how a gentleman should always have a handkerchief around a lady just in case…" he gave a shy little shrug, his cheeks coloring.

Charlotte took it and dabbed at her face, unable to hold back a small amused smile. "Your mom sounds just like Aunt Lila. They know all the best manners."

Bobby let out a quick laugh, seeming relieved that her moment of devastation had passed. "I don't always know what to do when girls cry. It's a hard thing to watch, and it makes me sad." Finally he sat down next to her. "But I'm glad you can cry. I think it's probably a good thing."

Charlotte nodded, sniffling once more and trying to straighten up her face. "It is. I hadn't really done it yet. I just kept pushing it all down... being angry, reading books, and just… staying by myself. It's so much easier."

"I know," Bobby replied quickly. "It is easier. To hide things. I do it too sometimes, but… I usually feel better when I finally talk about what I'm feeling or thinking about."

His words surprised her. Charlotte soon realized that she had expected, since Bobby was always so upbeat and positive, he wouldn't have much of anything to have to hide. But maybe she was wrong.

"You can talk to me… if you ever want to," she offered. "I don't feel like I can talk to a lot of people either. But I always seem to be able to talk to you," she finished, flushing.

"I'm glad," he smiled. "And I want you to come back to work. Soon. I'm almost done with _Peter Pan_ , and then I'll have more time to come by and see you, I promise."

This nearly sent Charlotte into another flurry of tears, but she stopped herself just in time, and managed to return his smile, shakily. That would be so wonderful – truly wonderful. But she had been vulnerable enough for one night around him, and just how great it truly would be to see him more often was going to be her secret.

* * *

Bobby did keep his promise, and began coming by to check on her at least once a week when she finally returned to the studio. Their friendship always seemed to stay fresh, though the more time that passed and the taller and more handsome he seemed to grow every day, the harder it was for Charlotte to keep her wits about her like she once could. Soon she began rehearsing in her head what she would say to him during future conversations, and replaying former exchanges over and over again. Subconsciously reaching for a latch to release a deeper level of admiration from him, she even started leaving her hair down more often.

Aside from her growing affection, things began to feel normal again – the _good_ kind of normal – after she started coming back to work with Aunt Lila, and they stayed that way awhile. Her mother maintained sobriety over the months that followed her father's departure, and soon, she and Charlotte went back home to live again. It could be a little hard to take, her mother's sudden forced involvement in all things Betty Crocker and her absolute unwillingness to even talk about Charlotte's dad – or anything that had happened over the last couple years – but it was something Charlotte soon learned to live with.

Bobby had worked hard on publicity for _Peter Pan_ , and had even gone to Columbia to shoot a picture for the studio there called _The Happy Time_ in which Charlotte felt he was definitely his handsomest. It was thrilling beyond words when her mom took her to the theater to see it just after it was released on Charlotte's fourteenth birthday.

"There's no denying, that boy will be the next William Holden," Aunt Lila assured almost anyone who mentioned Bobby's name in the studio. "Imagine! And we can all say we knew him when he was just a boy."

It felt obvious to Charlotte that Bobby was going places; and as happy as she was for him, as much as she felt he deserved it, she knew that when that time came, it would usher in the day when he would leave her world forever. It felt so selfish of her to want him to stay at Disney as long as she did so she could continue to see him, to talk to him. But there was no denying the weight she felt in her chest when thinking of what was to come.

Little did she know, another weight – one much heavier and more sinister – was about to take its place.


	3. That Place Between Asleep and Awake

_**Back in 1968**_

It was doubtlessly the sound of a door opening and closing repeatedly within the span of several seconds that brought Patterson, the maintenance man, from the hall he was working in.

"Everything okay here?"

Charlotte continued to open and close her work room door repeatedly, at various speeds, testing under which conditions it could be done so softly. It was an exercise in futility, she knew. But still, there had to be a logical explanation…

"I know, those hinges need to be oiled again. Getting pretty noisy, huh?" she heard Patterson continue behind her.

"Exactly. So there's no way..." she trailed off as she tried once more to open and close the door.

But it had never opened in the first place, had it? She had looked up… and there he was. And he'd left just as quickly. This door had never moved. Yet how was that possible?

"…Miss Leyton? Are you okay?"

"Shhh!" Charlotte snapped unwittingly, staring at her work room door. It unnerved her to have someone standing there asking a question she didn't even know the answer to. "I was… I'm…. someone was in here. Someone got in here and I don't know how they did it."

Opening the door one final time, Charlotte went in and grabbed her purse with shaky hands, not even taking the time to straighten the work room up for the end of the evening as she usually did. But the continued crackling of the Victrola was too eerie a sound for her to leave, so she briskly went over to move the needle.

"Someone got in here?" Patterson had followed her in, alarm in his voice. "Let me go check the doors. I'll check everything. I'm so sorry Miss Leyton, are you all right? I mean I… obviously you're not," he reached up to rub the back of his curly head. "I saw a guy in the back alley last night that looked shady, I should have called the police then—"

"It wasn't the guy from the back alley," Charlotte maneuvered around him to make her way out of her work room and head briskly toward the building exit. Her face felt wet, and she vaguely registered that it was from tears. "It was…" she shook her head quickly as she reached for the door to the outside.

"Miss Leyton." Patterson dashed to keep up with her. "Did he… did he do something, did he bother you?"

"No, he didn't bother me." Charlotte's voice broke, and she reached up to swipe the tears from her cheeks. "I've got to go home. I've got to get out of here…"

Patterson finally stopped following her at the door, but she could feel his eyes watching as she briskly walked to her car. She didn't mean to concern the gentle maintenance man, or take any of her raw emotion out of him. But this was too much, and she had to get away.

Charlotte got into her car, locking each door, and sat still in there for a moment, listening to each shaky inhale and exhale.

Either she was hallucinating, which she had never before done in her life… a mean, nearly impossible prank had been played… or…

Now that the whole thing was over, she felt the peculiarities trickle over her mind like ice water.

The voice that came from the man was definitely Bobby's, but it didn't sound entirely right for more reasons than just the presence of a rasp. Toward the end it had begun to take on a tinny quality, as though it were being broadcast over a radio from far away or from one of her records. The way his eyes seemed to gain and lose light had also seemed peculiar…

 _I don't know what's happening._

 _Something's happened. You've got to help me, Lotte._

 _It all went wrong._

Charlotte felt something indefinable break inside of her as his words echoed in her head. Whether it was her sanity, her heart, or both, she wasn't sure, but she finally dared herself to speak out loud.

"Bobby, you're gone aren't you?"

The words had been hard to choke out, and they hung on the stiff air of her car, unanswered.

"I mean, really gone."

When she could finally move again without feeling she'd fly to pieces, Charlotte rested her forehead against the steering wheel and closed her eyes. The only sound she heard was her tears thudding against the rubber bottom of the steering wheel as they fell.

If Bobby were dead – if he were truly dead and what she had seen was his spirit, which was already far beyond anything Charlotte believed in – then why would he ever come _here_ , to the Disney Studio? To the place where the mess had started for him? Why would he ever want to be here again?

Unless he hadn't been able to let go completely. Unless the pain was pinning him here, to this building. To her. To the secret she'd kept from him.

Feeling the keen need to escape, Charlotte finally sat up to turn on her car's headlamps.

... And promptly let out a strangled cry.

Bobby stood there again, in front of her car, the harsh light accentuating the devastation on his face.

The words fell soundlessly from his lips, but she could read them all the same:

"Charlotte, please… don't leave me here …"

Tears streamed down her face as she shook her head, watching him for another moment. Overwhelming grief and fear churned together in a toxic, paralyzing mixture.

"I can't help you." She finally forced her lips to speak, in a voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what you want…"

His gaze never wavered, and the agony in it never eased as Charlotte put the car into reverse, readying the steering wheel to turn her away from him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered words of salt as tears entered her mouth and she felt they would drown her.

* * *

As Charlotte drove the roads home by instinct, the deep bass of grief was slowly drowned out by the treble of raw fear.

She expected every man she passed walking down the dark sidewalk to turn back to her with Bobby's face. Her eyes nervously slid from the rearview mirror of the Corvaire to the side mirrors, then back. At any moment, she expected to hear the hollow sound of not-quite-Bobby's voice speak her name right behind her ear. But the drive was quiet with the exception of her own blood pounding in her ears.

The sound was too much to take when she pulled in to the driveway of the house she'd grown up in, and she hastily got out of the car and made a quick dash for the front door, the clicking of her heels echoing hard against the pavement. She fumbled for her keyring to get in when the door opened on its own.

Charlotte let out a sharp cry and dropped the keys on the front walk.

"What on earth is the matter with you?!" her mother jumped, the tin cans she was using as hair rollers clinking together.

Dropping her keys a second time before making it inside, Charlotte shut the door and bolted it.

"Well no need for all that," Marlyss Leyton reached back out to unbolt the door. "I've told you, I don't like to lock this door at night. What if the house catches on fire?

Cool annoyance filled Charlotte's veins as she hung her purse on the coat rack. "Mom, we've talked about this. This neighborhood isn't as good as it used to be. It's dangerous to keep the front door unlocked all night long. I can promise you the chances of someone breaking in are higher than the house catching on fire," she sighed. "Unless of course you do us in yourself by smoking cigarettes in the bed like always."

 _Not that locking the door matters for some things_ , Charlotte thought as she reached up to wipe her eyes one final time. Locked doors had done nothing for her an hour ago.

She looked around at the familiarity of home, of all her mother's figurines and the new television set in the corner. Down to her and her mother's constant bickering over the door, everything felt so normal. Was it possible for her to have dreamed the last hour of her life?

"You have makeup running all down your face, Charlotte. Were you at the pictures?"

"No, I was at work." Charlotte turned away, wiping harder at her face with her pocket handkerchief. "You know that…"

Her mother waved her off and picked up her wine glass, heading over to the liquor cabinet. "Of course, it's all you ever do. Work. No male callers, _no_ dates…"

Charlotte looked all around the room for a moment, uneasiness slipping back underneath her skin.

"You're almost thirty. Do you know, I read in Family Circle yesterday that women over thirty are two times more likely to get hit by a speeding car than t—"

"I'm going to bed. Goodnight, Mother. Keep the door locked," Charlotte murmured, heading down the hall.

But as predicted, sleep was a joke.

Charlotte lay in bed, all of her lamps on, until she realized it didn't make things better. She kept the radio on as well until Wolfman Jack went off the air around midnight. Then, there were records.

Finally, around 4am, Charlotte drifted into a semi-sleep while focusing on the words to The Walker Brothers' soulful "The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore."

It was during that restless transition that memories washed over her as though they had happened that very night.

* * *

 _ **November 1952**_

She had been passing by the conference room on her way to pick up the new measuring tape from the receiving room for Aunt Lila when she heard it.

It was Mr. Disney's voice that first came from the room, a sound which always made her pause to listen.

Walt Disney – the man behind everything she and the other seamstresses worked for here at the studio – was a charismatic individual with an infectious laugh and an aura of excitement hovering over him at all times. Charlotte always loved to hear him talk about his ideas, which he seemed to be doing every time she saw him. She hadn't ever imagined that he knew her personally, so it had surprised her when she'd passed him in the cafeteria the first summer she had worked there and he had referred to her as "Little Lila" with a fond sparkle in his eye. She wasn't sure how she felt about being known as a smaller version of her aunt, but the fact that Mr. Disney had noticed her at all, and had an inkling of who she was, was enough to cover a multitude of displeasures.

And so on this day, as usual, Charlotte paused outside the door to the conference room to listen in, excited for the chance to hear what the genius of a man might be planning next.

"After the release," she heard him reply to another man's voice as she came closer. "I want to wait until the release in February. The last thing we need is a big stink made about letting our lead star go. People love Bobby; do you really think they'd come to support _Peter Pan_ after hearing he was prematurely released from his contract? No, no. We've got to bide time. The moment for this has to be just right…"

Charlotte stared ahead blankly, letting the words register.

Another voice chimed in. "And you're sure there's nothing else we can give him? No way we can keep the boy? He's been here for years. He idolizes you, Mr. Disney."

"I know," Charlotte heard Disney sigh. "I know he loves me, and I'm rather fond of the young fellow too. But we have to be practical and think about the future here. Bobby Driscoll is our past. Nothing can be done about it, really. It's those telling pock-marks on his face what's done it, and of course I'm very sorry he hasn't been able to get rid of them. Why, he might make a good enough villain or bully in the next picture, but even at that…"

She couldn't listen to more. Pushing away from the wall, Charlotte continued to walk blindly, digging her fingernails into her palms as she clenched her fists.

 _His face_.

Bobby had a beautiful face. Sure, she'd noticed that over time, he was prone to breakouts, and it seemed that lately the red blotchiness of acne had settled in to stay for awhile. But that was no different than it was for so many boys in her grade, and beyond, at school. Why on earth should Bobby lose favor with Mr. Disney because of something that would surely go away in time?

The makeup they were putting on him was working just fine. She had seen it. It might be freakishly thick at moments to keep the hot stage lights from melting it off, but it worked, didn't it? Mostly?

 _I've got to tell him_ , was her first thought. Bobby had to know, he had to have the opportunity to talk to Mr. Disney himself. To clear up his face. To do something, anything, before February.

She pushed open the heavy door to go out into the employee courtyard, needing air and time to reflect on how to handle this. However, just as she was stepping outside, there stood Bobby, about to push his way in with a brightly wrapped box.

"Lotte!" he smiled brightly.

Charlotte's hand flew to her chest nervously. "Bobby…? Hi, let's… go back inside a different way." She put her hand on his arm to steer him to go with her.

"Oh… okay, well I was coming to find you anyway. Did you think I forgot your birthday this year?" he asked mischievously.

Shoving the troubling thoughts from her mind, Charlotte let out a small chuckle. "You never forget my birthday, Bobby. Not even once, and I still can't believe it."

"Yeah, well this year I got you more than just a cupcake. I hope you like it." He paused with her by a picnic table, handing over the box. "I even wrapped it myself. Are you proud?"

"Always." How she wanted to be able to look into his smiling face and return his enthusiasm. But it took about everything Charlotte had to act normally after what she had heard just moments ago. "But you know you didn't have to get me anything."

"Course I know, but I wanted to. I know you miss your dad, and I want to help you feel better," he said, sitting down to watch her open the gift.

Charlotte was careful in the unwrapping, feeling somehow extra-sensitive about undoing his hard work by tearing into the paper. Opening the box, she blinked. A small alligator purse was nestled there in tissue paper.

"Isn't it great?" Bobby beamed. "I knew you wanted one. I remembered you saying so that day you saw my mom's, and I hope it doesn't bother you that… uh, this one's not perfectly new, because Pat carried it just for a little while. I asked it off her to give you. She'd said it wasn't really her style. I told her I'd buy it from her, but you know she wouldn't make me do that."

Charlotte felt the smile overtake her face for the principle of what Bobby had gone through to secure her a real alligator purse. If she thought long enough about the fact that it had been his girlfriend's, she knew it could really rankle her. But she'd long ago come to accept that what he felt for her had nothing to do with what he felt for these other girls. She and he were friends, and the chances of that ever changing were slim to none.

But she could be thankful for that much, and she was. More than he knew.

Heat rushed to her face as she once again remembered what she'd just heard from the conference room. For shame that Mr. Disney would ever—

"Charlotte, I… I'm sorry. Does that upset you? That it was Pat's, and it isn't brand new? It's close to it, though! I really do swear I only saw her carry it maybe twice…"

Charlotte looked up again, surprised. Bobby rarely called her by her actual first name, though it sounded lovely wrapped in his voice. "No! Bobby, I love it," she smiled at him. "Really, this is… this is a beautiful purse. Nicer than anything I think I've ever had, probably." She took it out of the box and began to look through it. "If Pat doesn't want it, then her loss is my gain, right?"

"Yeah. That's what I said," Bobby chuckled. "Now look, you're fourteen! Almost caught up with me."

"I am." She gave him a coy smile, wondering if he had noticed at all that she had been trying her hand at makeup ever since he'd come to visit her at home earlier in the year.

But if he'd noticed, he didn't let on. Standing up, he patted her arm. "Sorry it's a couple days late. I was just tied up, you know."

Charlotte swallowed. "Yes… I know, you have been. And it's okay, I knew you would remember." She barely managed to look back at him and give a warm, earnest smile before putting her purse back in the box. "Thank you for this, again. I want to go back and show Aunt Lila."

"Sure. I've got to be going anyway. What were you saying earlier, about not going that way?" he looked toward the door that lead back into the building, down the hall that would pass right by the conference room Charlotte sought desperately to keep him away from.

"Right," she replied quickly. "They're, um… mopping there, and the floor's wet. Go in the other way." She pointed to another door, leading to a different wing of the building.

"Okay. Always looking out for me, Lotte. Thanks." He winked, and Charlotte felt her emotions turn completely sideways again. But before she could even say goodbye, he was off.

Bobby was always like that – high energy. Heading from here to there quickly, yet somehow managing to take the time to get it all right. It was only one of the many things she found special about him…

And she did wonder if he knew how very special he was to her. Boys could be dense, but there was no way he couldn't have detected the blush that rose to her cheeks when she'd performed his latest fitting. She had quietly made a mental note of the extra inches his shoulders and biceps had broadened. Slight changes, nothing to write home about, but they indicated that he was no longer a boy. Having boasted an excellent poker face most of her life, Charlotte had let her composure slip at the worst moment during that particular measurement session after having taken a little too long to bask in Bobby's closeness before turning to write the new numbers down in her tablet. He had turned his head slightly to look at her, doubtlessly wondering what had given the cause for delay.

How close his face had been that day, and how easily she could have leaned in to test if his cheek was as soft against her lips as she'd imagined it would be. But instead, she'd forced herself to meet his eyes, mustering up a blank expression. What resulted was an awkward physical proximity that caused them both to break into a laugh. "What?" she'd implored nonchalantly when she'd recovered.

"Nothing, I was waiting for you to keep going," he'd chuckled.

Thus, she had averted his suspicion for a day. If it was up to Charlotte, she'd keep it that way for pride sake if nothing else. Goodness knew she had already let her guard down considerably more than she'd ever dreamed she could have with this boy.

But whether Bobby could read her mounting affection or not, Charlotte knew she had definite interference to run for him, for all the kindness he had shown her: she had to somehow keep the very worst from happening.

* * *

That night Charlotte sat in the kitchen, eating apple pie straight out of the pie plate. Since her weight never really went anywhere no matter what she did, she had finally settled on just eating what she wanted.

"Oh jeez, Charlotte. What are you thinking?" her mother bustled in, reaching down and taking the pie plate from in front of her daughter just as Charlotte's fork was coming down.

To keep herself from letting a newly learned curse word bubble to the surface, Charlotte quickly brought her glass of milk to her lips. When she was done drinking it down, she got up to set it in the sink, hoping to catch her mother before she disappeared again into a cloud of cigarette smoke and dime-store novels.

"Mom, what can be done for acne?"

Her mother paused after dumping the entire pie plate in the garbage. "Acne? Why? Thank God that's not your particular problem, is it?"

Charlotte sighed. "No, clearly not. But I know someone who's got a really bad case of it, and I want to know what to tell him to do to get rid of it."

"Oh?" her mother smiled coyly. "Him?"

"He's a friend," Charlotte explained quickly, glancing away.

"Hmm. Whatever you say. Anyway, the very best thing for a clear face is… oddly enough…? Urine. Wash your face with your own urine every morning." Her mother turned to face her, hands on her hips, expectantly. "Want to go tell a boy that?"

Charlotte's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Absolutely not! You're kidding me! Are you drunk?"

Her mother sighed and tossed her hands up. "You asked me, I told you. And no, I'm not drunk. You know I've stopped drinking."

In fact, Charlotte knew her mother hadn't stopped drinking for long. In the last couple months, after the initial shock of her husband's departure, Marlyss had begun to introduce the wine bottles back into the house a little at a time, hiding them under her bed. Charlotte had spotted them herself while changing her mother's linens during their Saturday morning cleaning ritual.

But she could tell her mom was at least being honest about right now, as none of the usual telltale signs of too much nipping were visible.

"Well I can't tell him to do that. Isn't there a cream or something…?"

"Benzoyl peroxide was what girls always used when I was in high school. And… probably boys too, though I was far too crammed in your father's ear back then to notice much about other boys," her mother turned back to open the Frigidaire.

"How much is it?"

Her mother turned to look over her shoulder, eyebrows raised. "Just a friend, right?"

"Mom, I'm serious about this. It's… a friend who could lose his job. And he has a great job, one he loves with all his heart. I don't really even know if he realizes what a big deal this could be for him yet."

"What kind of job could you use just by getting acne?" her mom shook her head, but thankfully didn't ask more questions. "Hmm…"

She turned back to survey the contents of the Frigidaire, finally picking up a bottle of lemon juice. "I remember some people saying lemon juice helps dry up face oils. I've also heard about bee venom, not sure how true that is…"

Charlotte was stunned. "How do you know about all this?"

"I read lots of magazines, Charlotte, and I told you – it's a common thing. Kids dealt with it when I was in school, they deal with it now. Nothing seems to really work completely, though, in getting rid of it once it's already there. It's usually something that will go away on its own over time."

Charlotte reached over to take the bottle of lemon juice. "You said Benzoyl peroxide… bee venom… what else?"

"Tea tree oil…" her mom had taken to tapping her chin with her finger thoughtfully. "…And that's all I know. But the urine trick is the best for prevention. I know, because I never got acne."

Charlotte paused to stare. "You put pee on your face?!"

"Charlotte Olivia, that doesn't leave this house," her mother closed the Frigidaire door abruptly. "It was something my grandmother believed in, and I… bought into it for a little while. A _little_ while. No one even knows about it but you."

A tendril of warmth snaked itself around Charlotte's heart, and she glanced back at her mother. The very idea that her emotionally distant mother would think of telling her a personal secret caused a sense of happiness to flood a place inside her she had forgotten was even there.

"I won't say anything. I… obviously wouldn't say it to _him_ , so I think you're safe. Meanwhile, I'm going by the drugstore tomorrow to look at some things. I'll use some of my money Aunt Lila gives me for working." Charlotte tucked the lemon juice protectively under her arm and headed toward her room.

"Charlotte?"

She glanced back.

"It's alright, really, if he's more than just a friend."

Charlotte shook her head slightly. "He isn't. But… I guess there's always the hope, maybe, of something else. Someday. If I can make him really see me."

She turned and made her way back to her room to count her money for the next afternoon.

* * *

"Hiya, Lotte…!"

Bobby's voice held an edge of surprise as he came out onto his front step, still holding the door. Behind him, Charlotte could see a couple of guys standing in the foyer, glancing out curiously. Her timing evidently could not have been worse, as he and his friends were clearly heading out somewhere.

But Bobby moved to the side, making hasty introductions. "Oh, this is Dean and Sherwood, a couple of my pals. Fellas, this is Charlotte from the studio. A…" he paused, and the suspense regarding how he would define her caused Charlotte's heart to speed up a bit. "Measurer?" he chuckled. "In the sewing department."

She felt that familiar tightness in her chest, but chuckled, giving a little wave and shifting the paper sack on her hip. "I guess that's kind of right."

Bobby stepped out fully onto his porch then, closing the door behind him. "It's a surprise to see you here, but nice of you to stop by. Though I'm curious, how did you know where I live?"

Charlotte shifted the bag again. "I had to do some asking around. I hope you don't mind. And I won't stay long, I just… had some things to give you."

Not knowing exactly how to proceed, Charlotte simply handed over the brown sack.

Bobby took it. "Um… thanks." He stared down at it for a moment. "Can I open it?"

Charlotte bit her lip. "Yeah. But, I want to explain what all it is." She began to recite the list. "Lemon juice… tea tree oil… benadryl perozide… sorry, _benzoyl_ peroxide… and some cold crème that's supposed to be really good."

Bobby turned his eyes up to her. "Cold crème? That's a girl thing, Lotte. What's… all this for?"

But she inwardly cringed at the sense that he already knew. His ears were turning redder by the second.

"I… um…" she took a deep breath. "I just thought… well, I know someone said you hated having to wear so much makeup these days onscreen. So I wondered if I could find some stuff for you so you didn't have to."

Bobby turned his eyes back to the bag he held awkwardly in his arms, straightening slightly.

This had been a complete botch up. She could feel her heart hammering against her ribcage.

"So it's for my face." He lifted his chin and locked his eyes on hers.

Charlotte swallowed. She could just tell him the truth about what she knew, about why she was doing this. But if she could possibly manage to help him help himself without his having to know those upsetting details…

"I-I just thought…"

She trailed off then, because evidently she _hadn't_ thought - not enough, at least, to realize how humiliating it might be for someone to show up on your doorstep bearing acne care products without any good explanation. That was always her problem, jumping headlong into working out solutions without taking time to really consider their ramifications from every angle. And now Bobby would be going back inside with a paper bag full of junk to stash somewhere while his friends wondered what exactly an unpretty "measurer" from Disney had come to his nice house to burden him with.

"Yeah. Okay, I get it." His jaw hardened into a firm line. "I've been hearing about it already, a lot. From my mom… from some other guys at school, and now from you. Which, I guess I'd like to know, what's the idea, Lotte? Because I've never… I _would_ never… tell you something like, go eat an apple or skip an entire meal." His voice rose slightly at the end of the sharp comment.

Charlotte felt her mouth drop open. The blade of those words coming from _Bobby's mouth_ twisted in her chest.

"I've never wanted to be just another one of those people in your life who harps on you about—"

"Being fat?" Charlotte snapped before she could stop herself.

Bobby visibly hesitated, his forehead pinched in frustration. "Yeah. Okay? You said it yourself." His eyes flashed in a way she had never seen before. "But never once have I said anything about that, because it was none of my business what size you were, and who really cared about that anyway, Lotte? You were a great girl, a good friend. So why the hell do you want to come over here and tell me to wash my face for no good reason other than that you're 'concerned'?"

"Th-there is a good reason!" Charlotte stammered, but still she stopped.

How could she do it? How could she tell him what she'd heard the man he admired most in the world say about him? No matter how much he was hurt by what she'd just done, knowing what Mr. Disney was about to do would hurt way worse.

So she set her own jaw.

"I don't want anyone to make fun of you. I don't want… anyone saying anything about your face. That's all. I was trying to help you and I didn't know how to. And by the way. That apple? I've eaten it. That meal? I've skipped it. Want to talk about exercise, too? I walked all the way over here from my house, which is across town with the 'commonfolk' by the way, to bring you this stuff I spent my own money on. And here's about what it all amounts to." Charlotte opened her arms in a circle around herself in a vulnerable gesture that brought tears to her eyes. "I was just hoping it wouldn't be the same thing with you, that this was something maybe you _could_ do something about."

"Well believe me," Bobby shot back, seemingly unaffected by her spill. "I've tried it all. So, I tell you what..." he set the bag back into her arms with a fierce clunk. "Won't you keep it? I'll know exactly who to go to when I need more gunk to put on my face. Now I really gotta go, we're headed to town."

He turned and made his way back into the house, leaving Charlotte standing there staring at the door closed heavily behind him, with an armful of face products, and tears in her eyes that threatened to spill over.

Turning quickly, she stalked back down his driveway, pausing long enough to open the Driscolls' trash can lid and toss the entire bag inside.


	4. And Your Heart Will Fly On Wings

_**May, 1968**_

Charlotte's sleep was fitful, her mind tossed in a marinade of odd dreams. In the wakeful moments in between, she shed heavy tears, the memory of Bobby's voice echoing in restless whispers against the walls of her brain.

Finally, there was light outside. Relief washed over her as though from a tipped bucket in the morning sky.

Charlotte lay staring up at the ceiling for awhile, preparing to put all of her bittersweet dreams of Bobby behind her in order to focus on the day. She visualized a light switch – an old method her high school counselor had taught her years ago to help her turn off racing thoughts. If she wanted to be able to function for work, she had to stop while she was ahead.

 _Mind over matter_.

It was with this resolve that Charlotte got up and went through the motions of getting out of bed, taking comfort in the familiar routine: bathing, putting on tights and a shift, holding her piece of toast in her teeth while she styled her hair, placing a beret on her head, and spraying it all down to glue it in place. Looking well put together might assuage any concern Patterson had, should she see him, after last night.

Thankfully, she was right. Not only did Patterson refrain from mentioning the night before, her routine at work was so refreshingly normal that Charlotte determined that what she'd seen last night was surely the invention of an overly tired imagination. Maybe closing in on thirty meant she was getting old enough so as to be unable to deal with stress like she used to. It was the only thing that made sense.

And Bobby? Was surely still alive somewhere. It's what she had to believe.

Soon, it became so easy to forget that the vision had happened. Weeks flew by without even one thing out of the ordinary happening to Charlotte. She continued work on stitchery troubleshooting for the costumes for an upcoming film called _The Boatniks_. She let the project carry her mind away from the past, from Bobby, from what she had seen that first night of April. She had even become comfortable enough to stay after hours again, humming along with records or the radio and seeking peace in the steady whirring of her sewing machine.

That's why it took her offguard when she heard the sounds of a certain party.

It was nearly nine o'clock when she closed up her work room one night, opting to go outside through the main building exit so she could pass by the break room to wash her coffee cup before leaving.

As she walked briskly through the dark hallway, coffee cup in one hand and handbag in the other, she heard far-off strains of music.

Pausing, she listened as the sounds of laughing and glasses clinking floated around corners and down the hall toward her.

Her brow furrowed as she continued walking. She had no idea there was going to be an event tonight at the studio.

She turned a corner to continue on to her car, the music growing a little louder. Finally she was able to make out the song, "Til I Waltz Again With You." Light shone from underneath a closed door on the right – a room she knew to be a makeshift "banquet hall" for smaller company gatherings.

Chuckling to herself, she continued past the room. "I haven't heard that in forever. Nice walk down memory lane, folks."

She figured one of the executives was entertaining a handful of corporate sponsors, or maybe even a few of the latest crop of stars. An unusual thing to be sure, since Roy Disney was hardly the social butterfly Mr. Walt himself had been before he had died and left the company to his brother. The elder Disney rarely threw galas of any kind for employees, sponsors, or anyone else, no matter how morale-boosting those past efforts by Mr. Walt had been.

The next day, Charlotte mentioned it to Patterson.

"So, did the janitors complain about having to clean up after the shindig last night?"

Patterson stared at her blankly.

"You know. The party going on in Hallway C."

"Uh… there hasn't been a party in Hallway C since I started working here, Lotte. Miss Charlotte," he corrected himself quickly while screwing in a lightbulb from the ladder in the sewing room. "And besides – I was over there til eleven o'clock last night, checking to see if my roof patch was working."

Charlotte paused, feeling a cool draft in her chest.

"Sure you were on Hallway C?" Patterson went on.

"No," Charlotte compensated quickly. "I'm not, now that I think of it. This place is too big for me to keep track of all the hallways."

Patterson shrugged. "I don't think there was a party going on anywhere here last night."

Charlotte felt her sanity dangle in a precipitous place for a moment. Finally, she turned around. "Oh, well… I've got to get back to work. Be careful on that ladder."

She sought the safety of her work room, unable to get there fast enough. Once she was safely tucked away behind its closed door, all she could do was stand there and stare at the wall.

How could it be she had imagined the whole thing? She'd seen the light last night, heard the specific song playing. That was surely no fantasy.

Or was it?

She should think about calling the doctor tomorrow. Terror struck Charlotte's heart as she imagined all the reasons she would be told that she could be having hallucinations.

Yet there could also be a reason or two that she wasn't hallucinating at all. Despite not believing entirely in ghosts, Charlotte couldn't deny the existence of a spiritual realm.

Had it brought Bobby back to her in a way she would never have asked for him to return in? Dead somewhere, leaving his stripped soul to wander these halls, confused and devastated over his fate? Maybe even angry enough to drive everyone there mad with fear, beginning with her?

If Bobby's spirit had been responsible for what had happened to her a month before, then it was definitely responsible for somehow giving her the illusion of the party from last night. It only made sense, because the song she'd heard floating down that hall was one she knew for a specific reason.

She had heard it years ago, on the most magical night of her teens. The night of the one party she would never forget.

Bobby would know that. He would also probably know, if he were dead, that there was something very important she had failed to do on that night - something she'd always blamed herself for neglecting. Something she believed cost him dearly.

Was he causing her to relive it all out of retribution?

Or was she literally going mad, and connecting dots where there were none?

Curiosity - and the oddest sense of hope she didn't entirely understand - caused Charlotte to stay at work late again that very night. She didn't know if she would hear the party on Hallway C again, and if so, what she would do about it.

Powerless to forget about the incidents of the last couple months either way, she decided she would never get to the bottom of them if she didn't lean into them a bit and at least try to gauge where their tides were carrying her.

 _Till I waltz again with you_  
 _Just the way we are tonight_  
 _I will keep my promise true_  
 _For you are my guiding light…_

It was after 9pm, and Charlotte stood staring at the door in front of her. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her breath came in a short, loud series of inhales and exhales.

She should have at least made sure Patterson was still in the building, working on late night repairs, in case something went sideways and she needed someone living and breathing. But at the same time, she couldn't be certain he wouldn't want to escort her out of the building at this late hour, and this was something she needed to see through.

Charlotte flinched as she suddenly heard two voices calling to each other over the noisy room on the other side of the door, very close.

"Dean, get me one too!"

"What's the idea?! My hands are full!"

"Aww, can't even find a way to carry three Coke bottles…"

That voice. That memory.

The sudden sharp pang of de ja vu socked Charlotte straight in the gut. She could feel the bile churning its way from her stomach to her throat.

None of this could be real.

 _Till I waltz again with you_  
 _Keep my love locked in your heart._  
 _Darling, I'll return and then_  
 _We will never have to part_

The music continued, as did the banter on the other side of the door, but Charlotte couldn't hear anymore. Her former cause for approaching this room officially lost, Charlotte felt her baser instincts take control as she turned and ran down the hall, turning a sharp left at the end and nearly throwing herself into the opposite wall.

It had been awhile – too long – since she'd run for any reason. It proved to be counterproductive as the heels she was wearing began to get in the way of her own feet, and she had to stop a couple of times, grabbing onto the wall to steady herself until finally she just kicked the shoes off, making her way in stocking foot, blindly, for what she knew to be the exit.

The soles of her nylon stockings were ripped and pulling runs up her ankles as she finally made it to her car, which she opened the door to, jumping in as quickly as she could and throwing her handbag into the passenger side seat to lock the doors.

Bobby was here, somehow, for something. For her. And obviously not in the way she'd always hoped for, because the undertones she felt now in the very air around her were dark and troubled

"Bobby, what?! What do you want?!" she cried out.

She sat there expectantly, clutching the steering wheel with white fists. But there was nothing for her to hear, nothing to see. The parking lot was quiet.

"No. No, it doesn't work this way. You don't get to haunt me or… do whatever it is you're doing here, without just coming out and saying what it is you want." A sudden angry wave of determination crashed over Charlotte as she flung open the car door again, taking her keys out of the ignition of the Corvaire. She held onto the side mirror as she reached up under her skirt to slip the ripped nylons out of her garter belt and wad them up, throwing them into the backseat through the open window of her car. She wanted to be surefooted for what would come next.

Stalking back up to the door she flew out of, she fit her key into the lock and slowly opened it once more. She paused as the door closed behind her and she was left in the dark hallway.

Charlotte waited for a moment before walking cautiously the way she came only a few minutes earlier. With one hand she held onto the wall, conscious that somewhere down this hall she had kicked off her shoes, and it wouldn't do to trip over them.

No music floated to her this time. She made the correct turns through the building by memory, and when she knew she was back on Hallway C and flush with the banquet hall, she paused.

Nothing. No light, no voices, no Teresa Brewer song.

She dared not go in to investigate further, but stood there a moment, waiting.

When nothing happened, Charlotte turned and went back toward her car.

Was the cause of this madness truly Bobby, out of some desperation to make her see something from the past? Something he was angry at her for? Something he thought she could actually go back and change?

Of course, if she could in fact go back, she would't have to be told what to fix. But there was nothing to be done about all that now. Was there?

Too mentally exhausted to process the harrowing experience further, Charlotte got back into her car and took a deep breath before cranking up and pulling out of the deserted parking lot.

 _ **December 1952 – March 1953**_

After her ill-fated attempt to supply Bobby with face products, Charlotte had stayed away. Partly because of how bad she felt that her efforts had angered and embarrassed him, but then partly because of what he'd said during his retort. How could she have convinced herself that he was the one person who didn't see her weight, when all this time he had noticed it just like everyone else had? How could he have brought something like that up to her?

 _You did bring up the acne first_ , always came the response in Charlotte's thoughts.

Bobby hadn't known why she had come to his house that day bearing skin care products. No doubt it took him offguard. But there was no way she could explain the action, not without telling him the news that might make him panic, needlessly.

Needlessly if he would take her advice.

They barely saw one another in the months before Christmas. Charlotte made it her business to turn and go the other direction if she ever saw him coming down the hall, and she stopped going to the cafeteria to eat at all. It was easier on her emotions this way, to stay angry at him. To tell herself he was just another high school jerk.

It was what kept her sane when she watched the calendar bring the release date of _Peter Pan_ that much closer, and with it the fear that he wouldn't have a place at Disney past March. It also kept her sane when she felt the urge to show up on his doorstep yet again, this time with a better explanation of why she had come the first time.

It was her stupid pride that wouldn't allow her to carry, for a long time, the snazzy alligator purse he had gifted her with. She'd pondered making a show in the cafeteria one day of presenting it to someone else when she knew he would be there, looking on. But that would mean giving up the sweetest gift she'd ever been given by anyone, and she just couldn't. Not yet.

It was Bobby who extended the olive branch first. On Christmas Eve, he came by the studio after having been otherwise occupied throughout the month of December. He and his mother came bearing gifts – mostly cards for everyone and Christmas cookies Mrs. Driscoll had baked, but he did have a couple of wrapped gifts under his arm to hand out to the executives he was close to and, of course, Mr. Disney.

The burning in Charlotte's heart regarding his ignorance of Mr. Disney's actual feelings toward him now almost caused her to go intercept the package immediately and tell him not to waste his time. But she turned away and quickly headed back to her aunt's work room to find something to look busy with.

That "something" was rearranging all her aunt's push pins in the pin cushion by color, manipulating them into a clever cursive "L" design. She hadn't been at it long, however, when there was a knock on the doorframe.

"Yes?" she asked without looking up.

"Lotte… I brought you something."

The sound of Bobby's voice nearly brought her to tears – she wasn't sure if they were from anger or relief – but she allowed herself to only briefly glance over her shoulder.

"Oh?"

He either couldn't pick up on her disinterest, or he didn't care, because he came into the room anyway. Soon he was beside her, laying down a card… and a small plate of cookies.

Undefined emotion reared up in Charlotte then, released by way of an unrefined snort. "Ah, you shouldn't have! But I guess you couldn't find a head of lettuce big enough at the grocery store this time of year."

No sooner had the words left her lips than Charlotte inwardly winced. She had an uncanny way of taking after every other woman in her family by way of her sharp tongue. Years of resentment had sharpened the organ into a sword that could slice someone to ribbons before she could even think fully about what she was saying. Some chuckled and called it wit. But Charlotte knew it was nothing to be proud of. Bobby was obviously trying to mend fences, and all she could manage to do was lash out.

He was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry, Lotte, that I said that to you about your… size." She could practically feel the awkwardness with which he wielded the word. "I was just mad about what you did with all the face cleaning stuff because I couldn't understand why you'd do that. And I guess I still don't understand fully, but it doesn't really matter so much anymore. I just want things to be like they were and you to be happy to see me again. Because we're friends. And… we'll always be, for my part. So... eat all you want of these. I know you like my mom's cookies…" he trailed off.

Charlotte could practically hear the shattering of her heart in response to his humble repentance, but it was hard to look up. Impossible, even, to face him. That she had stayed so angry at him when he, not knowing any of the reason behind why she had embarrassed him, too, had elected to forgive her. It took only a split second for her to realize she was ready to forgive him as well, and had been for awhile. But she wasn't sure she could trust herself to look at him without crying.

He stood there only a moment longer before giving her a quick shoulder pat and turning to leave the room. "Merry Christmas, Lotte," he murmured, going out.

Charlotte still sat there propping her face in her hand, staring at the card and the beautifully decorated Christmas cookies until they became blurry through her tears. Sniffling, she picked up the card and opened it up.

 _Dear Lotte,_

 _I hope you have a Merry Christmas. I know you're still angry with me right now, but I hope you won't forget about me._

 _Best Wishes,_

 _Bob_

It was impossible to stay angry after that.

Not only because of Bobby's kindness at Christmas, but because the fast approach of _Peter Pan's_ release date brought more anxiety down upon Charlotte's head than she could bear. Bobby had weeks to clear up his acne before Mr. Disney might make good on his promise at the executive meeting.

Time marched on, and January turned into February. _Peter Pan_ was released, and the lines at the cinema told the story of Bobby's popularity and talent, just as Charlotte knew they would.

 _Mr. Walt, you're an idiot_.

Charlotte went to the premier of the film in order to quietly support Bobby, whom she still hadn't worked up the nerve to speak to since her coldness over the holidays. She looked on as he stood gaily in the lobby signing autographs for all those lucky individuals who'd received an invitation to the event, looking dapper in his suit coat and slicked hair. He had recently acquired braces, but they took nothing away whatsoever from his handsome face, at least in her eyes. She was grateful to be among the crowd here, invited to a premier like this no doubt because of her station at Disney.

At one point Bobby's eyes met hers, catching her in the act of watching him from a few yards away. He offered a small smile, and Charlotte found herself quickly returning it before turning away.

The movie was pure brilliance, not in small part due to Bobby's quirkiness and spirit. Through sheer vocal power alone, he set the personality of Peter Pan in place for fans to laugh and wonder at.

"You're really talented, Bobby," Charlotte whispered in the dark theater. "Mr. Disney knows it too, he's just let himself forget."

The pangs of regret hit her hard after the premier that night. She knew that the reason she'd balked at telling Bobby exactly what she'd heard was a legitimate enough thing – Mr. Disney could always change his mind. He could also have not been entirely serious. Why then, she'd reasoned with herself over and over again the last few months, should she worry Bobby with words that might not carry real weight?

Then again, what if they did? She had already sensed a certain "cooling" of Mr. Walt's attitude toward Bobby. He wasn't to be found nearly as often in Bobby's presence as he used to be, and when he was, something about his manner had changed. It was something Charlotte couldn't precisely define, and who knew if she'd even have noticed had she not overheard Mr. Disney's words on that day in the Fall?

If what he had said in the conference room was about to become reality, Bobby needed to know. He deserved at least that much – a word of warning, encouragement to go to Mr. Disney firsthand and talk things through.

Charlotte's mind went back and forth almost by the day, but finally it landed on a decision.

Bobby had always been the most up-front person Charlotte had ever known. He was comfortable in his own skin, and was consistently spreading that comfort to everyone else he knew. He had been good to her when everyone else had ignored her. Now, it was time for her to do something for him.

Could she go to Disney herself? No, that would be silly. What reason would he have to listen to a fourteen year old unpaid seamstress assistant?

The best course of action would still be to talk to Bobby about what she'd heard and let him make his own choice about how to handle it. At least she could ensure he wouldn't be blindsided.

When to do it? That was a good question. She'd already been a class act on bad timing. The most important thing this time, Charlotte concluded, was that Bobby knew her intentions in telling him the news.

And that could best be accomplished by her being honest about what he meant to her.

Could she do it? Could she form the words to say it? Would he laugh? No, Bobby would never laugh at her.

As it happened, an opportunity fell into Charlotte's lap. Two weeks following the premier of _Peter Pan_ , Mr. Disney was to hold a company-wide celebration over the success of the film. Everyone who worked there was invited, and the young stars of the picture were even encouraged to bring their friends and family. It was just the kind of event Charlotte avoided most of the time, and for a very good reason – at least to a fourteen year old girl.

She could never make a party dress look as good as other girls her age did; and the fact that other girls looked so perfectly tucked into frills and bows only further discouraged Charlotte from even attempting them. It was a fear that manifested itself in nightmares about her future prom, in which she would part the crowd wearing a show-stopping bad idea of a dowdy costume.

Unreasonable, maybe, but a genuine paranoia.

But, it suddenly occurred to Charlotte, Bobby knew that. She remembered telling him at least once that she avoided boy-girl parties and dances during junior-high school for just that very reason. So… would it speak to him, would it truly show him how serious she was about caring so deeply for him - and, thereby, helping him to pay better attentions to the words she would say - if she faced her worst fear for him? Just as she would be causing him to face what could perhaps be one of his worst?

It was an agonizing decision, but finally Charlotte made it. And once she did, she would not let herself waiver from it.

Charlotte took one of her drawings from her stashed shoebox, and she went to work creating a pattern. Every day after school she worked at the studio, in between her other duties, at perfecting her own dress design. If she was going to go to this party, and to dress up for all the world to see, she was going to do it her way.

She would do a black and white polka-dot print, thinking this to be a good choice against the red in her hair. Besides that, part of her loved the idea of shocking Aunt Lila, who consistently stood by the belief that Charlotte would look hideous in print dresses. It would be a cocktail style dress with a fanned out skirt, and in her own touch, Charlotte intended to lace wide black ribbon from lower-thigh level on one side across the front and up to finish in a bow at the waist. To keep her thicker arms well-hidden enough, she would wear her black bolero with the white boat-neck collar. And…

Dare she wear her mother's heels? Then get someone to help her weave her hair up into something elegant?

 _Too much_ , Charlotte scrunched her nose at the thought of looking too desperate as she took her latest measurements, staring at herself in the mirror.

She wasn't bad looking, was she? Not in the face. She wouldn't feel bad about fancying someone like Bobby. He may be out of her league, but she did at least belong to one – even if it was a league of her own.

Aunt Lila constantly looked over her shoulder during her work, obviously trying to figure out the project Charlotte was so immersed in. But this one was going to be a surprise for everyone.

And a surprise it certainly was, not the least of all to her when she managed – at 4am the morning of the party – to wake up with her cheek resting against the sewing machine she had slaved away at most of the night to create something she could be proud of wearing to a party like this.

Perhaps due to her excitement, she managed to hold tiredness at bay all during school and into the afternoon. After dinner, she went up to her room to tie all the ends of the ensemble together, at last.

She emerged an hour later on the landing as she looked down at her mother and Aunt Lila, both in various states of wandering between rooms to either fill a glass or put away the morning paper.

Aunt Lila's jaw dropped. "Charlotte, why what on earth are...!"

Charlotte stood awkwardly, unsure at first how to say what she was going to do.

Her mother caught her tongue next. "Lotte, you're… you're absolutely beautiful! Where did you get that dress…? Are those my shoes?"

"They are," Charlotte began to slowly descend the steps. "I hope you didn't mind. And I made the dress."

"And you're wearing more makeup?!" Aunt Lila piped in.

"I am."

"And your hair, it's…"

"The way both of you like it," Charlotte smiled. She had foregone the full updo in favor of a partial one that would leave enough of her hair down to frame her face.

The moment Charlotte came down the stairs, basking in the glow of such unabashed approval, was a moment she would never forget.

"And just where are you going, looking like that?" Aunt Lila was paying little attention to the cigarette that was nearly burned down to a nub in her fingers.

"The party Mr. Disney's throwing. I… I decided to go after all," Charlotte forced herself to meet her aunt's eyes, tho she couldn't stop her cheeks from reddening.

Her mother's face glowed positively radiant as she spoke again. "I'm glad. You're at the age you should be going to parties and having fun. Your dad wou…"

But her mother trailed off, perhaps realizing that this would be an unfitting time to bring Charlotte's father up.

"So who's taking you? Anyone coming to pick you up?"

By this point, Charlotte had reached the bottom step. She looked from her mother to Aunt Lila.

Several seconds went by.

As hard as she tried not to, Charlotte brought her hand to her mouth in surprise and let out a snort.

Aunt Lila watched her incredulously, a small smile tugging at the corners of her own mouth. "You didn't think that far ahead, did you?"

Charlotte's mother calmly set her wine glass down on the bookcase and rubbed her forehead before letting a giggle escape.

In a matter of seconds, the three of them were in stitches, their voices filling the living room with unexpected laughter.

After a few minutes of laughing so hard her sides hurt, Charlotte could barely remember why it was all so funny. The best part of it was, she was sharing this inexplicable mirth with the women who'd raised her – and for those moments, her father's absence, her mother's drinking, her weight, and even Bobby's plight didn't matter quite so much.

It infused life into her, and also caused the thought to pass through Charlotte's brain: her ditzy, alcoholic mother and her stiff Aunt Lila had both been her age too. They'd worn beautiful dresses for parties and had probably wanted so badly for "that one boy" – whomever he had been for both of them – to notice.

When she mused over that thought, Charlotte realized there was more to be shared where the laughter came from.

They fought to recover, and when they finally did, Aunt Lila's expression was one of pink-cheeked warmth. "I suppose I can take you. What time will you be finished?"

Charlotte wiped her eyes. "Wait in the car, it may be eight seconds."

Aunt Lila clicked her tongue. "Let's say ten o'clock."

Wincing, Charlotte followed as her aunt took the car keys off the wall hook. If worse came to worse and no one would talk to her, she could always walk down to Daylight Donuts and bury herself in lemon custard filling until ten.

"No rogue boys are going to be at that thing are there, Lotte?" her mother called after them, rubbing her arms through her thin nightdress. "If there are, do you suppose your Bobby knows how to fight?" She beamed.

The breeziness of the past few minutes evaporated as Charlotte froze, looking over at her Aunt. Lila turned searching eyes toward her.

"Bobby is your young man, isn't he?" her mother smiled wistfully. "Do yourself a favor and ask him to dance first. Before all those other girls pile on top of him."

"That's hardly a classy way of putting things, Marlyss," her aunt chided.

"I'll be fine, Mom. Night." Charlotte got out the door as quickly as she could as her aunt and mother were exchanging parting words. Finally Aunt Lila joined her in the car.

"What's all this about fancying Bobby?"

Charlotte sighed. "I don't fancy him. Not really, Mom just… didn't understand the situation. You know we're just friends."

There was no way she was confiding in Aunt Lila about what she and her mother had discussed in the kitchen on that night several months ago.

But Aunt Lila was persistent. "Charlotte, if you do—"

"But I don't," the sharp retort spilled out. "I know I'm not good enough for him. Not pretty enough, not witty enough, not… nice enough, even. Trust me, I know. So you don't have to say it."

Charlotte didn't mean to sound so harsh, but she was in a good mood and she certainly didn't want that mood to be doused by her aunt's reminders about how Bobby was of a different caliber than she was.

Aunt Lila was, for once, silent, so Charlotte turned on the radio. Rosemary Clooney's sassy voice filled the car.

But her aunt reached down almost immediately and turned the dial off. "Charlotte, do you know why I'm hard on you?"

"Sure I do. You love me?" Charlotte offered. She'd heard it all before.

"Because you're better than me and your mother. You're smarter… and you're a lot more driven. You've got stars in your eyes, purpose in your step. And as good as that is, I want to make sure you use it for the wise things, and not to get yourself in trouble. Girls with big dreams have… big ideas. I don't want them dashed for you. Bobby Driscoll is as good a boy, as sweet and well-mannered of one as I ever laid eyes on," Aunt Lila sighed. "But you know he's… he's just a boy. And a boy who might not realize exactly what he could have in you, and because of that, he may hurt you. That's why I want to be sure you're careful."

Charlotte sat quietly a moment, digesting her aunt's words. "I know he doesn't look at me that way, Aunt Lila. I promise that – for all I think of him, I realize it's not that way in return. And it's okay, because I know who I am, and I know who I'm not. Those nice things you said, I believe they're mostly true. So when I really let myself focus on them, I come to be okay that I'm not very pretty."

She could tell her aunt was fighting to come up with a good response, but the shortness of the drive to the studio saved her.

"Here we go Aunt Lila. Sure you don't want to come in? Everybody's going to be there. It's to celebrate _Peter Pan,_ and goodness knows you did plenty of work behind the scenes on all the costume fittings." Charlotte reached for the door handle as her aunt pulled up in front of the Hallway C entrance.

"I'm a little old for all that business," her aunt glanced over ruefully. "Now mind your manners, don't walk anywhere with a boy without a chaperone, and for heaven's sake, stay away from the sweets."

Lotte had to smile at the familiarity of the instructions. "Yes, Aunt Lila."

She got out, closing the car door behind her and giving a final wave before smoothing her dress, taking a deep breath, and going inside.

Charlotte walked down the long hallway. She began to hear music soon, and started to follow it - until she was standing outside the banquet hall listening to a song that had recently taken over the radio waves.

 _Till I waltz again with you_  
 _Just the way we are tonight_  
 _I will keep my promise true_  
 _For you are my guiding light…_

Placing a trembling hand on the door knob, she very nearly lost her nerve to turn it when she heard Bobby's voice on the other side.

"Dean, get me one too!"

"What's the idea?! My hands are full!"

"Aww, can't even find a way to carry three Coke bottles…"

It was now or never. Charlotte opened the door and stepped inside.

Suddenly, the sounds of the party almost overwhelmed her; but instead of giving into the desire to run, Charlotte stood still a moment to equalize her emotions, slowly feeling excitement replacing the anxiety coursing through her veins. A few people turned to look at her.

Several of them did doubletakes.

"Charlotte? Charlotte Leyton!" The smiling face of one of the seamstresses exclaimed in greeting.

There were plenty of whispers that followed. "Oh my gosh, it's the measuring lady's niece. Look at her!"

"I know, I had no idea that was even _her_!"

It was invigorating to hear all the remarks. Now Charlotte knew exactly what Cinderella must have felt like. Except for the fact that, tonight, she was going to be far more brazen than any fairy-tale princess had been - and would be going home much earlier than midnight.

Spotting Bobby across the room as his friend Dean handed him the Coke bottle, Charlotte began to walk over. She was nearly to him before he paused to look up at her.

His eyes widened.

"L-Lotte?"

"Yes, it's me." Charlotte swallowed hard. "I… I thought I'd come after all."

Bobby was thronged by people, young and old, and more than one girl. The girls looked her up and down, evidently finding no threat present, and turned to continue their conversations. Only Bobby stood still.

"Lotte, you're…" he broke away from the rest of his crowd and took a couple steps forward. "You're awfully pretty tonight, is that a new dress?"

Charlotte's mouth went dry, and she was sure her pounding chest must be visible through her bolero. "Yes. It is. I made it." She had trouble staring into his eyes, feeling odd wearing the mascara she had bought from the drugstore earlier that day. Finally, she forced herself to look at him and cut straight to the chase. "And I'm sorry. For everything. I was hoping to talk sometime tonight, before too late. I know it's a party and not great for deep talking, but… I don't see you like I used to."

She could feel Bobby's eyes on her as he discreetly studied her form, though he snapped his attention back to her face quickly as a flush crept over his cheeks. "You… you really do look nice. I don't think I've seen you in a dress like this, or… with your hair like that."

Charlotte could barely find her voice in the face of his compliments. Before she had to, however, he continued.

"And anyway, I've told you Lotte, there's nothing to forgive. I'd rather we just let the whole thing from November go. Start fresh."

Charlotte opened her mouth to speak, to tell him exactly why her earlier actions mattered. But what came out surprised her.

She would later blame it on the music and the festivity buzzing all around her, and her mother's recent advice:

"Dance with me."

As soon as she said it, she bit her lip, but kept her eyes trained on his. The small huddle of people standing nearby – obvious guests of his – paused and turned to her, astonished.

"I want you to dance with me. Please," she tried again in attempt to mop up the bluntness mess.

Bobby himself watched her a moment, clearly as shocked by her forwardness as everyone else was. But after just a second, he smiled. "Course I'll dance with you. Let's go."

He took her hand, pulling her to the center of the room where other young couples stood swaying in one another's arms, and a few others doing the Charleston to very unfitting music. Charlotte laughed breezily at the sight, so heady was the experience of having her hand held by Bobby.

"So you do dance?" he asked her, turning her to face him.

Her heart nearly squeezed up through her throat as she shook her head, very aware of his scent – some delightful cologne. She hadn't smelled men's cologne since her father lived at home, and even at that, he never smelled quite like this.

Suddenly Bobby laughed. "You don't know how to dance, but you asked me to do it with you? You're a crazy cat, Lotte, you know it? Well we have to start somewhere."

Charlotte could truthfully care less about the actual dancing part, and she almost said so. What she cared about at that moment was staying close to him – to that smell, to the feel of his hands in hers, sweaty palms and all. But she went along with the lesson as he, very matter-of-factly, explained to her about the swing.

"My parents did the swing, I think I remember watching them once."

"Oh no, it's a lot different than it used to be," he chuckled. "Watch me. See, you replace this step they used to do with… more like a tap. Get it?"

Charlotte was amazed at how a boy could be a strong actor, the sweetest person she'd ever met, as handsome as Paul Newman, and a good dancer all at once. It was fascinating simply to watch Bobby's life, even if she could barely relate to it.

"Hey, you're getting it! Now. This song works with that too, so let's keep going."

The experience was so heady that Charlotte had barely detected that the song had changed.

After a bit, she became vaguely conscious of the fact she was actually dancing well. She'd never tried it before, but had always assumed… what? That her weight may throw off her aerodynamics? She wasn't sure why she'd never danced, honestly. But she was glad that of all the right times for her sense of gravity to be accurate, it was now.

By the time the next song came up, Charlotte braced herself to be replaced by Bobby's next dance partner, doubtlessly one of the girls hemming them in from all sides, continuing to try to make conversation with him during the dance. So it surprised her when he didn't let her go.

"I think…" she whispered, still pink-cheeked from their closeness. "…some of the other girls were hoping you'd give them a turn, and that's okay."

It would be easier to let herself down before he could do it first.

But he shrugged. "They can wait. After all, isn't this your first party? I want you to have a good time, and I kind of like being the person to give it to you."

Feeling so exhilarated she needed to turn her face away to regroup, Charlotte continued to dance with Bobby into the next song. Thankfully, as she was becoming slightly winded, this was a slower dance where their swing moves were dropped in favor of gentle swaying, which was easy enough to catch onto.

This time, however, she noticed the song. It was "Stormy Monday Blues," a song she'd once seen her parents dance to late at night after she was supposed to have been in bed.

The memory evidently caused her to stiffen, because she felt Bobby's breath on her cheek as he asked, "You alright?"

"I was just… um, thinking about my parents, I guess. They really liked this song."

He brought his hand up higher on her back to hug her to him, a gesture that warmed her thoroughly from head to toe. It was something small that made her feel the same sense of security she had felt years ago, when her family was still intact.

"Hey, we can get out of here if you want. Go outside, maybe?"

The idea of getting away from the prying eyes around them was all too tempting, and Charlotte nodded. "Please. Dancing has been fun, though. A lot better than I would've thought…"

"Yeah. You've done real great." He pulled away from their dancing embrace, but kept hold of her hand as he pulled her along behind him, headed for the door.

Stares came from all sides, and finally tiring of them, Charlotte lifted her head and made eye contact with as many of the jealous-looking girls her age as she possibly could.

For the first and maybe only time in her life, it was her turn to be proud of the boy she was walking with.

The air in the courtyard was warm and breezy. It couldn't have been a more perfect night if Charlotte had designed the whole thing herself.

And Bobby still had her hand.

"Have you heard from your dad at all since he left?"

Charlotte shook her head. "No… I sure haven't."

"I'm sorry. I know you miss him…"

Letting out a sigh, Charlotte unloaded. "You know… I don't blame him for getting tired of my mom and her drinking. But I didn't do anything wrong, and I shouldn't have had to suffer for her stupid mistakes. My dad and I were supposed to hold each other together during the mess."

The statement then launched a tirade that took her another two minutes of near-breathlessness to fire away with, and Bobby listened patiently the entire time as they went over to sit at one of the picnic tables.

"… And so if he does try to contact me, I don't know I even want to have anything to do with him again."

"Don't be that way," Bobby responded quickly. "You'll regret it, Lotte. He's your dad, and I know you love him. I mean, go ahead, be angry. I don't blame you. But it'll only hurt you worse if you try to make him pay."

Charlotte shook her head slightly, but continued to listen.

"And besides, he's probably just really messed up right now. I mean, why else would he leave you? He's probably figuring it all out… and then, he'll be back! Wait and see."

She couldn't help but smile, turning to face him. "Bobby, you always see the best part of people. How do you do it?"

He shrugged. "I just know that even when I do dumb things, or act mean, there's usually a reason. And it isn't that I'm just being unkind or unthoughtful. I just have something else on my mind that gets in the way. So I try to give everybody else that benefit of the doubt."

Charlotte had to let out a chuckle. "You might be the best – and happiest – boy I've ever met. Matter of fact, you might be the best and happiest person I've met in general. Nobody else has your optimism, you know."

Bobby reached down and picked a blade of grass, twirling it around. He was quiet for longer than Charlotte thought was normal, and she looked over at him again. "You are happy, aren't you? How could you not be? You always _look_ happy enough, and act happy…"

He paused another moment. "Yeah, sure. I'm happy. I mean I have every reason to be. I have great parents, I work over here with Mr. Disney, and I'm gonna get a car soon. I already know which one I want. You oughta see it," he grinned over at her. "Lots of things are going right."

"But?" Charlotte's brow furrowed, knowing there was something else he needed to say about his life. Suddenly she remembered the remark he had made to her the night he'd come to visit her at her house.

 _It is easier to hide things. I do it too sometimes._

"But what, Bobby?" she repeated. "It's okay, you know, if… you haven't said the whole thing."

He started to speak a couple of times before he finally cleared his throat. "There's nothing else to say. Not really, I mean…"

She brought a hand over automatically to place over his. He had let go of her hand earlier when they had sat down, and she did miss the contact; but this time, she wanted to convey comfort more than anything - and she was always better with touch than with words.

He squeezed her hand in return, but was quiet a moment more. "Lotte, I'm… things are just hard right now, that's all, really. School… being the way it is."

Charlotte knew Bobby had changed schools at some point last year, even though she wasn't sure why. In reading his interviews about the change, he'd always seemed optimistic and settled – or at least the interviewer had conveyed things that way.

"What's school like? Tell me."

"I'm… not exactly who I am here, when I'm there. Um…" he seemed to wrestle with words. "People there don't really understand me. What my life has been like, and they can be…"

"… Be what?" Charlotte felt a fire in her belly.

"Be, just…" he finally let out a bitter snort. "Asses. If you really want to know. I can't seem to make any progress at all making friends, and believe me, I've tried." He let out a deep breath. "My mom said it would just take awhile, that it's normal when you start a new school. I know all that, but still. It's taking way longer than it ought to, and I'm starting to wonder what…" he shook his head.

Charlotte squeezed his hand again, swallowing hard.

"… What I've been doing all this time. I thought I lived a pretty normal life when I wasn't filming, but now I'm realizing just how much I've missed, how much 'normal' I didn't really get. The kids now, they remind me every day. Do you know how sick on my stomach I get just thinking about walking in there every morning?" his voice rose slightly.

"Bobby…" Charlotte was at a loss for words for a moment. "I… I really had no idea. You never talked about it, you never seemed like anything was wrong."

"I know, I've worked pretty hard at making sure of that. I just… kept thinking it would get better, but it's not, and I'm sick of it, Lotte."

What an idiot she'd been – thinking all this time that he'd been the strong one in their friendship. That he could never understand what life was like for her. Turns out, it could quite possibly have been a harder year for him than it had been for her. And there she'd shown up at his house to talk to him about pimples.

Charlotte definitely knew what she didn't want to tell him right now. This business with Mr. Disney was nothing he needed to hear in his first moment of brutal honesty. But there was something she knew she did have to say, and quickly, before she lost her nerve.

"Um…" she swallowed again, throat dry. "Bobby, you need to know th—"

"Bob, Lotte." He turned to her, smiling apologetically. "If you don't mind, I'd rather you called me Bob. I've been Bobby for too long."

She nodded. "Bob. You'll have to remind me a lot," she returned his smile, "but sure. Anyway, you need to know that you're… I…"

She turned toward him a little more. "I haven't ever said anything like this because you've always had… you know, lots of people around you who are more qualified to… feel the way I do."

He sat still a moment, then looked over, brow furrowed. "Hmm?"

Oh gosh, it was true then - she'd heard from her mom before how dense boys could sometimes be. She would need to be more direct.

Taking a deep breath, she plunged ahead. "What I mean to say is… I know I'm not the prettiest girl you know. I never lost my baby weight, I'm… not glamorous the way a person should be if they want, um… if they want…" Charlotte winced and paused, digging hard.

Bobby sat staring at her. "If they want to be my girl?"

The words ushered a sock to Charlotte's chest that she was sure turned her scarlet from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes.

"Alright, yes. If that's how I gotta say it."

Bobby smiled just slightly, but enough to turn his eyes into crescent moons – her favorite part of his smile. "Then… say it. Like that, I mean say it the way you mean it."

Charlotte gave a short laugh in astonishment. "I just did."

"No you didn't. Not directly. I said it for you. So… _if_ that's really what you're thinking, won't you use those words, huh?"

Charlotte gave an exasperated sigh, embarrassed beyond belief. "Really, Bobby, you're acting like a kid. You said it and I agreed, why do I have t—"

"Bob."

"Bob," she corrected, drawing out the _O_.

He was still smiling, but he shook his head. "Alright, you don't have to. I have to confess, I just wanted to see if you could. How bold is Lotte Leyton?" he finished the sentence in a mock announcer voice.

"I want to be your girl," Charlotte blurted out. "There. I do. I've wanted to be ever since that first summer."

"That… first summer? Really?" he turned to look at her again.

She nodded. "Mm hmm. But I knew then that I could nev—"

He reached up to silence her with a gentle finger on her lips. "Lotte… stop that. Stop talking like you're not as good as me or anyone else. You do it alot, and I wish you wouldn't."

Charlotte watched, dumbfounded, as he pulled his finger away, then leaned in to give her a quick kiss on the forehead. The spot tingled for a second before it spread to the rest of her body as she realized he wasn't moving his face away yet.

He seemed to be either debating or working up the nerve for something. Then, deftly and suddenly, he ducked in and placed his lips against hers.

The kiss was soft and fast, like the one he'd just placed on her forehead, yet different. Charlotte blinked, then stared back into his eyes after he did it, endeared by the uncertainty she saw there. Guessing he wasn't sure what her response would be and if it was an okay thing he'd just done, she sought to reassure him. Before he could change his mind and pull fully away, she leaned in for her own turn. She had never kissed a boy in her entire life, and was sure her lips trembled as she took his with an unbridled enthusiasm, understanding now why picture show kisses featured tilted heads.

The kiss opened up floodgates she'd never experienced before as Bobby reached a hand to place against the back of her head, returning her fervor with his own, and then some. A slight trill of delicious fear crept up Charlotte's throat as she experienced the white hot zeal of a sixteen-year-old boy's kiss. A portal to a whole new world flung itself open to her as the tempest worked its way from his lips to hers.

It was partly out of this sense of unfamiliarity that Charlotte soon pulled away, letting a nervous little laugh escape as she did so.

Her heart was pounding, and she wadded her skirt in both fists.

 _What idiot laughs during a first kiss?_

It had come unbidden, but Bobby didn't seem to mind. He leaned in to give one last quick kiss to her cheek.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," he whispered, still close. "If other boys can't see how pretty you are, it can be my best kept secret. And besides that, you're a great kisser," he winked.

Was this real?

"I've not done it before, so that's a little surprising," Charlotte replied, trying to keep any tremor from her voice. "I guess I can be a quick study…"

"You are." Bobby smiled and put an arm around her. "Let's keep walking, it's too nice out here to just sit."

The next hour went by in a haze, despite Charlotte's attempts to frame each and every second so she would remember it forever. There was no more kissing, which slightly disappointed her, as the feel of Bobby's lips had unwittingly scratched a great itch. But they walked and talked about things Charlotte hadn't discussed at length with anyone. Bobby discoursed a little more candidly about school, growing up famous, and life with his parents.

It was nearly a quarter to ten when Charlotte finally looked at her watch and realized how much time had gone by. She and Bobby reluctantly walked back inside and had cake together before it was time to go outside and meet Aunt Lila.

How deliciously freeing it was for Charlotte to realize she'd broken both of her aunt's rules concerning chaperones and sweets in one fell swoop.

But the very best part was that Bobby showed no signs of embarrassment or self-consciousness whatsoever about being with her while the other, more glamorous girls, looked on with envy.

By the time her aunt showed up right at ten and Bobby had walked her to her car, she had completely forgotten about her entire reason for showing up at the party. She got into Aunt Lila's big '46 Mercury after he squeezed her hand a final time, and it didn't dawn on her that she'd virtually forgotten everything about Walt Disney's plans until after she'd turned to lean almost all the way out the window to wave at Bobby in what she hoped mimicked the amorous move she'd seen ladies do on the movies. Her dramatic action wasn't lost on him as he laughed when he put up a hand to wave back at her, standing alone on the sidewalk.

"Oh no," she moaned suddenly in the warm evening air as she watched him disappear. "What was I thinking?"

"Golly right, what were you thinking, Charlotte Olivia! Get down in here, you're behaving like a besotted child." Aunt Lila tugged at the back of her dress to pull her down into the seat. "What if you fell out of this car?"

Charlotte didn't argue the point, but fell back into the passenger seat ungracefully. "Oh no oh no oh no. I don't know when I'll get another chance to tell him…" she trailed off.

"Tell him what? And does it matter, really?" Aunt Lila's voice changed slightly and took on a more pleasant note. "I saw him holding your hand when he walked you out. Do you have something you'd like to tell _me_?"

"Bob," Charlotte muttered absently. "He wants to be Bob now. And yes… I do." She turned in her seat to face her aunt. "I walked past a conference room one day and heard Mr. Disney talking about firing him. From the studio. Because of stupid pimples. He says Bobby, Bob…" she shook her head quickly, "isn't the cute kid he was anymore, and it's time to let him go."

Aunt Lila's mouth dropped open as she took her eyes off the road long enough to stare at Charlotte. "You're feeding me a good joke."

"No…" Charlotte shook her head once more. "I'm not. And I was going to talk to him tonight, tell him what I heard so he can either go to Mr. Disney and talk it out… or work harder on his acne, or, I don't know. Do something. What if I'm too late now, what if Mr. Disney was waiting until after this party to do it?"

"He won't do it," Aunt Lila answered firmly. "That child is Disney's biggest money maker. He wouldn't let him go. Forget what you heard, Lotte, because I can promise you, Mr. Disney was just talking out of his head or kidding the executives. He wouldn't fire Bobby Driscoll."

"That's what I've been hoping," Charlotte sighed, closing her eyes as she rested her head against the back of the seat. "But how can we be sure? I don't want to worry him or make him upset if it turns into nothing, so I was waiting for the right time, but… tonight was so perfect."

Aunt Lila shifted her eyes once more to her niece's face.

"It was perfect in so many ways," Charlotte continued, sighing. "But for that kind of conversation? It really wasn't, so I kept putting it off until I forgot. But it's the whole reason I came tonight, Aunt Lila."

The two of them sat in silence for a moment before Aunt Lila cleared her throat, turning onto her home street. "Charlotte, listen to me. There are some things women shouldn't get involved in. Business is one of them, so whatever it is you heard, or you think you heard… let Bobby and Mr. Disney work it out."

The comment wasn't anything Charlotte would usually embrace from her old-fashioned aunt. But tonight, she needed to hang onto it, and she did just that as she got out of the car after bidding goodbye to her aunt, heading into the warm light that met her at the front door, where her mother stood waiting.

"So?!" her mom closed the door quickly once her daughter was inside. "How did it go?!"

Charlotte turned to face her and couldn't stop smiling.

The night had been a fairy-tale. Despite thinking she would never fall asleep for replaying the kisses, the talks, the closeness of Bobby over and over in her mind, Charlotte eventually did drift off into a warm, dreamless sleep, the radio on her nightstand left to play until the station went off the air at midnight.

She slept peacefully, only slightly stirring once a few minutes before midnight at the voice of Hedda Hopper, the celebrity gossip columnist.

"What child star at Walt Disney Studios had better begin looking for a job because his contract has been terminated?"

Charlotte's eyes opened for a second as her exhausted brain tried to sort out the puzzle of words she couldn't quite grasp onto, yet felt important for some reason.

Making a sleepy decision somewhere along the way that they must not have been, she fell back into a contented slumber.


	5. All Children Grow Up Except One

_**March 1953**_

Life was a golden thing.

Charlotte let the gold trickle down through her brain and into the corners of her mouth as she smiled almost continually for the next couple of weeks after the party.

For the first time ever, she felt pretty. She began wearing all her best clothes and taking time to fix her hair and makeup before leaving for school in the morning. Being wrapped inside Bobby's affection seemed to give her a supernatural ability to be exactly who she was and not feel sorry for it or afraid of it - at long last.

Aunt Lila could tell a difference. People at school could tell a difference. Her mother might tell a difference, could she set down her wine glass long enough to see straight. But as it happened, during the weeks that Charlotte lost herself in thoughts of Bobby Driscoll, Marlyss Leyton was losing herself once again in her wine.

Charlotte either didn't notice the landslide, or subconsciously ignored it. She still wasn't sure, years later, why she didn't see it coming. All she cared about at the time was Bobby returning from his visit to Iowa with his parents. He'd left the day after the party, having told her he would be gone two weeks, and she was eager to find out if he would officially ask her to be his girl when he came back home. Their kiss had clearly been a game changer, but the two of them hadn't had the chance yet to talk the "What happens now?" over properly.

He did send her a postcard once of the Des Moines Art Center while he was traveling.

 _Lotte,_  
 _My parents agreed to a detour to Des Moines for me to look around at this new art museum. It's really great, and it reminded me how much I'd like to try my hand at sculpture. Think I'd be any good at it?_  
 _I've been thinking alot about the fire in those green eyes. Hope you've been thinking about me, too. I'll come by when I get home._  
 _All the Best,_  
 _Bob_

After reading the postcard, which Charlotte put under her pillow, there could be no denying it – he was falling for her.

Bobby Driscoll falling for Charlotte Leyton. Who would ever believe her if she said it? _When_ she said it?

It was under this spell that Charlotte carried on her days and nights, thinking of little else... until what was happening right under her nose became a full-blown catastrophe.

She returned from doing research paper work at the library one night around nine o'clock, and was greeted at the door by Aunt Lila.

"Charlotte… come in. Put your books away, and meet me in the living room."

"…What? Why?" Charlotte's heart began to race as she clutched the books more tightly.

"I just need you to do it. We've got a small matter to discuss."

"Where's Mom?"

"We'll talk about it when you put your things away."

Numbly, Charlotte went to her room, dropped her armload of books unceremoniously on the bed, then returned to the living room where Aunt Lila stood, hands clasped and fidgeting.

"Aunt Lila, what happened?" She could hear the altering pitch in her voice. A hundred scenarios raced through her mind.

"… Your mother's in the hospital. I took her there myself, about an hour ago." Aunt Lila's voice broke, and she cleared her throat. "It's getting bad again, and this time, she nearly died of alcohol poisoning."

Charlotte stood and stared at her aunt with big eyes, unmoving.

"This thing, Lotte…" Aunt Lila finally sat down on the edge of the couch and patted the seat next to her for Charlotte to join her. "I want to make sure you know this doesn't make your mother a bad person. She just… has a problem with the bottle. Kind of like our father did. It's a family secret. Nothing to go talking about to other people." The gentleness in her aunt's voice was beginning to give way to the more characteristic firmness. "No need to air our dirty laundry out to everyone. Anyway," Aunt Lila paused to fluff a throw pillow, "...she needs time to get back on her feet, to really give this thing up once and for all. And she's not going to be able to do that without a lot of help."

Charlotte, when she was finally able to stir again, began nodding nervously. "I-I know. I'll help her, Aunt Lila. I'll do whatever… whatever it is we n-need to do—"

But her aunt held up her hand to stop her. "That's just the thing, Charlotte. You're a child. A girl. You've already had your fair share of dealing with your mother on this level far above what you ever should have. Since your father's still nowhere to be found, this will be my job." She took a deep breath. "As her sister, I need to be the person to stand alongside her during this."

Charlotte nodded once again. It was fine with her for her aunt to take on this task, frankly, glad it wouldn't be her this time. But why was Aunt Lila making the decision so climactic?

"I understand…"

Aunt Lila began wringing her hands slightly. "And so that leads me to my next point. You don't need to be around while this happens, Lotte. Your mother, she's going to be disagreeable and probably very sick while she comes off the alcohol. She and I may come close to blows over her bottles… if you can imagine me sparring," Lila paused to give an almost-smile, clearly meant to inject humor into the situation. "… and none of that is something you need to see. So I've been talking to your Aunt June Ann in North Carolina. She and your Uncle Curtis are willing t—"

"To come here and help look after me," Charlotte finished, sighing. "You know I can look after myself, Aunt Lila. I'm fourteen."

But her aunt ignored the remark "… She and Curtis are willing to take you in for a few months."

Charlotte paused. "Here. They're moving here…?"

"No… you're going there. They live in a town called Iron Station."

It took a minute for the pieces of her brain, just blown to bits by the bomb of Aunt Charlotte's words, to resettle. "... What?"

"You're going to live with them for awhile. Only for a little while, then your mother will be w—"

"I can't leave." Charlotte clutched her hands into fists, shaking her head vehemently. "I'm not leaving."

"… I know this is hard. I know you want to stay with your mother," Aunt Lila tried.

Charlotte let out a cold laugh. "Mom? No, I'm not the least bit concerned about staying with Mom. She's not too worried about the rest of us, and obviously she knows how to live her own life. So no, I don't really care about her right now."

Aunt Lila's eyes flashed momentarily. "Young Lady, you will not talk about your mother that way!"

"Why not? Come off it, Aunt Lila! She's selfish, she's turned stupid with booze brain, and I'm done respecting her simply because she's my mother. She made Dad leave." Charlotte could feel her heart pounding out of her chest and tears flooding her eyes. The rage she felt surged through her body. "She made Dad leave _me_ , and I hadn't done anything to deserve it. So why does my entire life have to be uprooted right now, yet again, because of her?! She's… she's selfish! She's a selfish WITCH and I won't let her do this to me!"

Charlotte's blood had reached a boiling point by this time, and she picked up a snowglobe on the shelf next to her and flung it to the floor, relishing the sound of shattered glass and water sloshing out onto the carpet.

"Charlotte Olivia Leyton, you calm down this very instant." Aunt Lila was on her feet. "Marlyss is your mother, and you won't ever have another one. Now you simmer your little hot head down and go get something to clean that up with!"

"NO."

The instant she said it, Charlotte knew she'd made a big mistake.

Aunt Lila was quiet for a moment, staring hard at her. Finally she took two steps forward, and Charlotte began to back away. However, just behind her was a wall, so she shut her eyes tightly, preparing for the slap she knew was coming.

Instead, she felt something quite different.

Aunt Lila's arms came around Charlotte in a rough embrace, holding her tightly.

At first, Charlotte shoved against her aunt, not in the mood to be coddled. But it didn't take but a few seconds for her to find herself sobbing uncontrollably into Aunt Lila's chest.

"Please, don't make me go, Aunt Lila. You don't understand. Things are finally getting really good for me here. I can't just leave…" Charlotte gave up talking then and continued to cry.

"I know, Love," her aunt whispered into her hair. "I know. I'm… I'm sorry."

Charlotte cried until her tears were utterly spent. Finally, she crumbled from Aunt Lila's arms onto a nearby chair.

"It's only for a little while, Lotte. I do promise you that." Aunt Lila sat down beside her, taking Charlotte's hand in hers and kneading it gently as though to massage hope back into it.

"I barely know June Ann. I've seen Curtis maybe twice, and I don't want to live with them. I don't know anything about North Carolina, either. Please, Aunt Lila, don't make me go…" Charlotte felt herself quivering from the inside out.

"Lotte…" Aunt Lila gently turned Charlotte's chin toward her to meet her eyes. "June Ann is the best one of all of us. She's a lot younger than me and your mother, and we didn't grow up close, but in the last few years, she's been as good of a support to us from a distance as any sister could ask for. And besides, she's family. Family takes care of each other. One member steps in when the other is going through a hard time, and it's important for you to see that in action."

Charlotte swallowed, finally giving a faint nod before tearing up again. "But Aunt Lila, I… I just got Bobby as a beau. He's the only boy I've met who sees me for who I really am, and likes me for it. If I leave now, he'll forget me. He'll forget all about me and start running after the pretty girls again…" it frustrated her to feel her face crumbling once more.

Aunt Lila squeezed her hand. "I know you care about that boy, Lotte. I know you do. And I'm sorry all this had to happen now. But I want you to realize, even if you're too young to see it right now, that this world is so big. There are so many other things to see, other things to do. I know you won't want to hear this, but there are other boys, too. And if, in the end, you and Bobby find each other again, well... then it was meant to be. But if you don't, that's when we have to trust it wouldn't have been a good thing. You only think you know how lovely things would have been between you and Bobby, but you can't really know. Wouldn't it be better to leave things this way, while they're still sweet on your mind, than for something to happen later and your heart be broken?"

The words chafed. "Bobby wouldn't do that, he wouldn't break my heart."

"Bobby's just a boy, Charlotte. Remember what I said? He's human, he's going to disappoint you. It's life." Aunt Lila's voice remained gentle, but her words continued to sting.

Charlotte wrested away from her aunt, standing up. "… I'm… I just want to go to bed."

Aunt Lila sighed deeply, but nodded. "Go ahead…"

Charlotte turned to trudge away toward what was unavoidably going to be a long night of more tears, regrets, and an unquenchable anger directed at just about everyone – but most of all, her insufferable mother.

The worst part of it was being unable to talk to Bobby. Charlotte's thoughts continued to race as she wondered what would happen when he found out. Would he wait for her to come home? Would he consider a long-distance relationship too difficult to maintain? And anyway… he hadn't actually said yet that she was going to be his "steady." After this news it seemed pretty unlikely, but knowing for sure would be so much better than not knowing.

It was a couple of days after Bobby was supposed to have come home that Charlotte could no longer handle waiting and decided to just show up at his house. This time, however, she relished the knowledge that she would be visiting under very different circumstances than she had been last time she went to the Driscoll home.

She waited until after school and after homework, so Aunt Lila wouldn't have anything to complain about, then put on one of her best dresses and began the long walk.

Straightening her back, she rang the doorbell and waited, tossing her hair over her shoulder to look sophisticated.

It was Mr. Driscoll who answered the door.

"Can I help you…?"

"Yes. I'm here to see Bobby. I'm his friend, Lotte. Charlotte," she quickly corrected.

"Ah. Well, Charlotte, I'm afraid this isn't the best time for you to visit." While not blatantly unkind, Mr. Driscoll's words were cool and no-nonsense. She had never met Bobby's father before and wondered instantly if he disliked her.

Charlotte stood there, opening her mouth a couple of times to give a good response, but could think of none. Why wouldn't Bobby want to see her?

"I… um, yes Sir, I understand. Just tell him I came by…?"

He nodded and started to close the door just as Charlotte heard a female voice. "Who was that?"

As she was heading down the front steps, she felt the light fall onto her back as the front door was opened fully. "Charlotte?"

Charlotte turned around to see Mrs. Driscoll leaning out across her husband, who stood dourly in the doorway still. "Yes ma'am?"

She watched as the couple exchanged whispered words, and Mr. Driscoll turned away, leaving his wife to come outside. "Hello, Dear. I should tell you, Bobby's…"

Charlotte watched as the older woman approached her, rubbing her arms as though it were cold outside. She seemed to be struggling for words to say.

"Is… he sick?" Charlotte choked out, but feared the worst – that he had told his parents he didn't want to see her, that their time at the party had been a huge mistake.

Mrs. Driscoll sighed and stared off for a moment, still searching for words. "He's… well, you might say that. He's sick with a broken heart."

Charlotte's eyes widened. "Why? Wh-what happened?"

The woman's mouth tightened slightly for just a moment before she finally responded. "Mr. Disney decided to let him go."

 _Oh no…_

"What?" The word sounded far away as it fell from Charlotte's lips.

Bobby's mother nodded. "I'm afraid so. We don't know why, exactly, but Bobby's pretty sure it's because…" she shifted her weight. "Well. He's changed, you know. He's not the little boy he was, and that transition to manhood isn't always smooth…"

The unspoken reason lay thick between the two of them as Charlotte nodded, guilt showering her face like the spouting of a water hose with each word Mrs. Driscoll said. It was all she could do not to take a step back, or two, and turn and run.

"So you see, Mr. Driscoll wasn't trying to be grumpy with you. It's only, we're trying to give him space, time to work through this. But truth be told, it may do him good to get up out of bed tonight and talk with someone. Would you still like to see him…?"

Charlotte surprised herself with her desire to flee this place and not come back. How could she face Bobby after this, after failing to warn him like she knew she should have months ago?

But she found herself nodding numbly.

Mrs. Driscoll gave a faint smile and lead her back toward the house. Charlotte barely paid attention to Mr. Driscoll still standing in the hallway, or to anything that lay beyond. She'd always wanted to come inside Bobby's house to see what it was like, and to be immersed in the environment he called home. But none of that mattered a whit to her right now.

Charlotte was lead upstairs and told to wait a moment as Mrs. Driscoll slipped inside a room that was presumably Bobby's. She took the opportunity to look up and down the hallway, mostly out of nervousness, and noted all the pictures of Bobby she saw. He was apparently Mr. and Mrs. Driscoll's only child. She'd never really asked Bobby if he had siblings, but had assumed the answer to be no since he'd never spoken of any. The Driscolls' sheer adoration of their lone son was evident in every corner.

She could hear voices coming from Bobby's room, but was unable to make out what was being said until Mrs. Driscoll's unmistakable voice rose slightly as she said firmly, "Robert Driscoll, up out of this bed, I said."

More murmuring followed, and Charlotte crept closer. She remembered all too well the time she herself had barely permitted Aunt Lila to drag her out from underneath the covers for Bobby's visit. It broke her heart to no end to realize that now, the tables had turned.

Finally, Mrs. Driscoll emerged, sighing. "He won't get up… he says you'll understand." She placed her hands on her hips. "So you can go ahead in there Dear, much as I don't like the idea of visiting in a bedroom. Please just keep the door open. I'll be down the hall folding clothes."

Charlotte nodded, her eyes already seeking Bobby's form on the bed in the room beyond. She entered slowly and quietly, taking care that Mrs. Driscoll saw her pulling a chair to sit a respectable distance from the bed.

Bobby's back was to her as he lay on his side, facing the wall. The covers were tucked neatly around him, something she was sure was sure Mrs. Driscoll had seen to before she had been permitted to enter.

"Bob…?"

Charlotte reached out gingerly and placed a hand on his arm.

"Lotte," he murmured.

"I'm… I'm so sorry. I truly am, I just… I c-can't imagine…" she stammered, closing her eyes tightly. "Tell me how… what happened…?"

Bobby sniffled before he began to speak, and that's when she knew how heavily he had been crying. "… Uncle Walt, he let me go. I heard… things, on the radio, while I was gone. Hedda Hopper, she said… a young star at Disney was about to lose their contract. I wondered who she could be talking about, and it bothered me til I got back…"

Charlotte began to rub over his arm gently.

"… Then… I went over there, and…" his voice became thick once more with tears.

Each word was a dagger to Charlotte's chest.

"… And I tried to talk to him, but nobody would let me. They actually escorted me out of the studio. Lotte, how could they do that? What did they think I was gonna do? I was upset, but I didn't want to do anything bad, I just wanted to talk..!"

He broke off then, and his entire frame began to quake with sobs.

Charlotte had never heard a boy cry before, not like this. How she wanted to crawl onto the bed and wrap her arms around Bobby, holding on until his tears were spent. Knowing how improper it was, and how her luck would land Mrs. Driscoll in the doorway the minute she attempted it, was the only thing that held her back. She fidgeted with her nails to keep still.

Maybe it was because it took all her willpower to prevent this instinctive move that she had no filter left for the next one. All she knew was that, for this moment – and from all those leading up to it in the last few days – it made perfect sense. So she let the words fall from her lips.

"Let's run away."

Bobby's tears quieted as he lay still a moment, then finally rolled over to face her, eyes red and puffy.

"We should just leave here and go to New York City!" Charlotte continued, in an excited whisper. "You're a good, talented actor and nobody can tell you otherwise, Bobby. You could try to work on Broadway, and I… I could finish school and start working! Then I wouldn't have to go live with my aunt June Ann, and you'd be able to show Mr. Disney what an idiot he was to fire you, and—"

Bobby interrupted her with a forced laugh. "Lotte, you really do come out with some humdingers sometimes."

"Well?! And why can't we?" she retorted. "Let's just go. I read about people who do this all the time. Do you know Cary Grant was a runaway? Oh and Rod Steiger! He had an alcoholic mother just like me, and he left her t—"

"Those people left to _come_ to Hollywood, Lotte," Bobby explained tiredly, rolling onto his back and closing his eyes, which no doubt burned by now. "What fellow leaves it when he wants to keep acting? And I don't even know I want to keep acting right now."

"But we can get away from everybody, isn't that the best part?" Panic began to rise again in Charlotte's throat.

 _The whole world's flying apart on us both._

Bobby opened his eyes. "Say, what was that part about… an Aunt June, or Ann…? What do you mean about having to go live with her?"

It was Charlotte's turn to cry, and she did. She poured out the entire story of her mother's alcohol poisoning, her aunt's mandate, and what it would mean. She didn't want to turn the conversation to herself at a time like this, but as she spoke, she realized all the more that she couldn't possibly leave Bobby right now. Since all this had happened to him – and she hadn't even so much as warned him about it – she had a responsibility to stay and help him through it.

"—So it would help us both out if we could just leave, and then I'd be with you!" she finished, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Bobby sat up, sliding over toward her on the bed and taking her hand. "Lotte… gosh. I-I didn't know, I'm sorry. I wish you didn't have to go, but—"

"But I can't," she finished off. "And I won't. I'll figure out a way to stay here, to be with you through this. I won't leave you right now, Bobby."

A small light flickered in Bobby's eyes, and he broke out into a genuine smile. "I don't know anybody who cares as much as you do, Lotte. But you know this isn't your mess, right? You have your own. And you know you're only fourteen, and you gotta do what your Aunt Lila says, even if you don't want to. Who knows, you may even end up happy you got away from here for a little while. You know I'll be here when you get back, and we can write letters. We'll always be friends, always"

 _Friends._

Lotte froze, then looked away quickly as though she'd been slapped.

Bobby sighed, and she could tell he was reading her mind. "Aww, don't you see? That's really all that makes sense for right now, Lotte. I was hoping... well, for a little more, same as you were. But if you're there and I'm here, and we're both dealing with so much stuff, how could we ever focus on romance?"

He reached a hand over to move some hair out of her face as she turned back to him.

"You're just beautiful, you know? I can't believe I didn't see it sooner. I'm sorry I made you wait so long."

Charlotte bit her lip, trying hard not to cry again. This was all she'd wanted for the last few years, and now, it amounted to nothing. It had always been just a beautiful fantasy.

"Listen," he continued, his eyes earnest as he was obviously trying to help soothe her obvious disappointment. "I've already gone steady twice, and it's a real swell thing, don't get me wrong. But I feel like… it's a little harder to come by good friends, like the kind you've always been to me… than to come by a girl to just take to the picture show and hold hands with. And right now, don't you think that's what we both need? A friendship like we've already got? And then later, when you come home, we can try to pick up where we left off. We _will_ , I just know it."

She lowered her eyes, trying to let Bobby's sweet, honest words sink into her brain. What he was saying made sense, but it broke her heart.

How unfair could anything be? Why did all of this have to happen now?

Finally, Charlotte nodded in surrender. "More than anything, really, I guess I just… want to be whatever you need me to be to help you get through this."

He squeezed her hand. "… You'll be okay, Lotte, and your family will be, too. I know it may not feel like it now, but you will be. Everything'll be fine, and you'll be back before you know it." His voice carried a lack of conviction which she knew was due to the strain he was facing himself.

"Bobby, I know I'll be okay," she shook her head. "But will you?"

He hesitated a moment, pulling at the loose threads of his blanket with his free hand. "… Yeah. I'll be okay, too." He looked up at her with the faintest traces of determination in his eyes, though she wondered if it was only for her sake. "I'll be fine, and I promise I'll keep in touch with you. When you get back, who knows? I might be steady on my feet. I oughta be by then."

Bobby rested back against the pillows once more as though his optimism efforts were exhausting.

There was only one last thing to do. Listening first for the sounds of Mrs. Driscoll approaching, Charlotte leaned in and kissed Bobby on the cheek, softly. He then reached up and placed a gentle hand against the back of her neck, turning his face to give her a full kiss on the lips. It was a kiss that lasted until his mother could be heard putting the last of the laundry in a nearby closet.

Charlotte pulled back, flushed from both the kiss and the idea of Bobby's mom walking in on it.

Mrs. Driscoll appeared in the doorway just as Charlotte had gotten resettled in her chair and traded a secret smile with Bobby. Despite the heavy emotions in the air, the echo of that beautiful evening they'd shared a couple of weeks ago felt just invigorating and hopeful enough to send her home on a cloud, anesthetized sufficiently from the realization that this was probably the last time she would see him in person for several months.

Charlotte had no way of knowing then, but it would actually be the last time she would be face to face with Bobby for years.

" _Time passes, people move._  
 _Like a river's flow, it never ends_  
 _A childish mind will turn to noble ambition_  
 _Young love will become deep affection_  
 _The clear water's surface reflects growth."_

***  
 _"It is something that grows over time... a true friendship._  
 _A feeling in the heart that becomes even stronger over time_  
 _The passion of friendship will soon blossom into a righteous power_  
 _And through it, you will know which way to go._  
 _This song is dedicated to the power of the heart..._  
 _Listen to the Bolero of Fire..." – Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time (1998)_

 _ **1953 - 1962**_

Looking back, Charlotte imagined she must have cried herself to sleep every night at Aunt June Ann's and Uncle Curtis's for the first six months she was there.

Iron Station was a sleepy, small town, very unlike Los Angeles. It got its name, Uncle Curtis had explained, from its two biggest early industries: iron mining and railroad. It lay nestled against the larger, if only slightly, town of Lincolnton.

Charlotte felt no other place on the planet could be worse.

"That school is full of squares – all the way up to the teachers!" Charlotte had complained on her first day of school. The gravity of her mother's situation had forced her to leave California before her eighth grade year had ended, and it was disorienting to her to start a new school when it was almost time for summer break. "Is there anything at all to do or see in this podunk town?"

"Well, let's see. There's the Tucker's Grove Camp Meeting Ground, which you'll get to visit this summer with us. They've got a lot of things to do," Aunt June Ann replied levelly. At first it infuriated Charlotte how her aunt met almost all of her sarcastic barbs with sweet, sensible responses. "Lincolnton is what it is, I suppose. What would make it more fun for you?"

Aunt June Ann (or "just June Ann" as she liked to be called) turned out to be everything Aunt Lila had described. Her presence was as light and sweet as whipped lemon icing, and she wrapped her affection around Charlotte like she'd known her all her life. Uncle Curtis was quiet and supportive, and together, they presented a united front to protect Charlotte from her own anger. It was hard to stay so negative and bitter in their peaceful home. Her youngest aunt was one of those people who believed that even though bad circumstances existed, a person could find the good in them and use their own abilities to change things. An excellent example was her idea of hosting a Fourth of July party specifically to introduce Charlotte to some of the area kids, as Charlotte's one month at the junior high school upon arriving wasn't sufficient time for her to get to know anyone on a friendly level.

Not that Charlotte was interested in friends, anyway, she told herself.

It was at that party that Charlotte met Joanna and Hazel, a set of twins that lived down the street. At first it annoyed her the way Joanna continually followed her around, trying to make conversation; equally annoying was the way Hazel said absolutely nothing, but followed Joanna around like a pet dog. But after June Ann informed Charlotte that the girls' parents had divorced earlier in the spring, she felt more sympathetic to them. Divorced parents was a topic Charlotte knew something about, even if the twins' father did visit them on occasion, while she herself had still heard nothing from her dad. Sympathy for Joanna and Hazel, over time, lead to a sense of companionship.

"Isn't it refreshing to have an open mind?" June Ann had asked her with a smirk after arranging a snack tray one evening for her to take out onto the porch where she and the twins were about to spend a late summer evening putting together a puzzle.

North Carolina summers were sweltering in a different way than they had been in California. The humidity could leave a person bone-soaked two hours after they got dressed in the morning. Over time, however, she began to get used to, and even look forward to, the summer nights. She and her aunt and uncle would take pillows and thin sheets to sleep outside on the swings and lounge chairs of the big wraparound porch to keep cool. It was an excellent time to lay awake, watch the ample fireflies sail around in a drunken parade overhead, and think about Bobby.

The missed opportunity she thought would cause her heart to throb forever was usually the reason she woke up in the morning with sandpaper eyes.

No matter how many friends she might make in North Carolina, Charlotte was determined not to lose touch with anyone back home – specifically, Bobby, who proved right from the start to be a consistent letter writer. He typically sent one every couple of weeks, chronicling for her his attempts to find acting work since being let go from Disney. After a bit he had increased his search to include stage work, and for the rest of the year, had better success landing stage roles. This didn't seem to bother him a great deal at first, and for awhile, it looked like he may land on his feet post-Disney.

Charlotte was proud of his resilience, and Joanna and Hazel were dazzled by the pictures and letters that came to Charlotte from "a real Hollywood star." At their bidding, she began reading Bobby's letters to the twins almost each time she received one.

Bobby seemed to be happy that Charlotte had made the friends she'd made and was steadily becoming more content living with June Ann and Uncle Curtis for the season. He claimed to have never been to the Southeast outside of the _Song of the South_ premier in Atlanta years ago, but he was interested in visiting.

The amicable small-talk of the letters comforted Charlotte when she missed home the very most. Almost everything about living with June Ann and Uncle Curtis was picturesque, and she felt warmed to the bone by a world where she didn't have to worry about her mother. But she missed working at Disney. She also missed her old school, and despite her anger with them, she missed her mother and Aunt Lila. Bobby's letters were a security blanket during the worst of the homesickness, a final lifeline to the life she'd had.

Charlotte began to have suspicions her "couple of months" would be extended when she realized just how slowly her mother's recovery was coming. She threw a tantrum the night Aunt Lila broke the news to her that she would be staying on for an entire school year in North Carolina. Charlotte would never forget slamming June Ann's bright red telephone receiver down so hard that the cradle broke, and then spending the whole evening sobbing out of guilt. June Ann had been far too good to her for such an action.

And so, given little choice in the matter and realizing how much worse she could have it, Charlotte settled in for more time on the East Coast.

Bobby's letters continued through the next year.

The easy air of his words never wavered once during that time, but he unwittingly caused the worst of her angst to flare up after stating at the end of one letter: "You know, Lotte, I'm glad you're making friends. But don't date too many guys, because one day you'll be back. And when you are, I want to be the first to kiss those cute lips."

She knew Bobby hadn't intended to set her back emotionally with just a few words, but the remark caused her anguish to become almost unbearable, particularly due to having watched Disney's new "Johnny Fedora and Alice Bluebonnet" cartoon on television for the first time just before being handed the letter by Uncle Curtis. It was enough to send her to the front porch swing to cry all evening, wiping her face raw with a stack of June Ann's freshly stitched handkerchiefs.

"I'm so sorry, Lotte," her aunt smoothed her hair back. "Boys tend to not realize how it can really affect us girls to be reminded of feelings we can't do anything about."

But Charlotte later remembered this as her first true encounter with the bittersweet. As badly as she hurt to be completely unsure when she would see Bobby again, it helped to know he still thought of her in the way she hoped.

It was toward the end of 1954 that Bobby's letters began to taper off. At first Charlotte took notice, and began writing him more frequently in order to prompt more letters in return. But after this approach didn't work, she began to pay less and less attention, as a new boy at school – Ralph Burgess – had succeeded in catching her eye. She'd done plenty of justifying her crush early on by reminding herself that Ralph didn't captivate her in the way Bobby had. But the farmer's son proved to distract her just enough from the absence of Bobby's letters to make it not hurt quite as much.

By her sixteenth birthday, however, it became apparent what Bobby was spending his free time on, and it felt way worse to Charlotte than it would have if it were just another girl. She received a Christmas card instead of a birthday greeting, and opened it almost cautiously, brow furrowed.

She could barely read the words scrawled onto the paper.

 _Lot,merryx mas toyou Be goodand have a goodyear and stay anice girl. So glad you madeit to seventeenhahaha._

 _Happybirthdaytoyou_  
Happybirthdaytoyou  
Happybirthday myLot  
Happybirthday toyou.

The lack of sensible spacing or even good sentence structure – plus the fact that for the first time, Bobby had miscalculated her age – caused Charlotte to wonder if he'd lost his mind or was playing a prank on her. She made a phone call to Aunt Lila in short order, not having the nerve to call Bobby himself.

What she found out wasn't comforting.

"Tell me you're joking, Aunt Lila."

"I'm not, I'm afraid," her aunt sighed. "I saw him at the supermarket with that friend of his, that – Lester, I think it was – and I can promise he was high as a kite. I'm afraid this thing with Disney just really took the spunk out of him, Dear. He's not the same boy he was when we knew him. He's still getting enough work, it seems, but not the kind he wants. Mostly plays. Mind you, I only know what I know because Reba and Thelma know Isabelle, and—"

"How could he? Has he not seen enough of MY life – enough of Mother – to know how bad this could be for him? Drinking or taking pills or… or doing those other things… do NOT help."

Aunt Lila paused at this. "… Speaking of, do you want to talk to your mother? It's been almost a year, and—"

"No, I… not today. Tell her I said hi, and I'll talk to her next time," Charlotte sighed, rubbing her forehead.

"You said that last week."

"Aunt Lila, please, I can't think about Mom right now."

By the time she'd hung up with her aunt, something inside Charlotte had cooled toward Bobby. She was sure that it was in no small part due to the fact that he was turning to substances to get his kicks, and that's something she never imagined he would do. Not Bobby Driscoll.

It was the beginning of the end of the infatuation.

After her birthday, she didn't hear from Bobby for awhile and she wondered if he even had remembered sending her the tacky card. In irritation, Charlotte sent him one last letter to remind him, and instead of outright asking him if the rumors were true about his drug use, she closed with a snide comment.

 _You sent me a Christmas card on my birthday. My sixteenth, by the way, not my seventeenth. It was hard to believe the handwriting was even yours, but I know you've been working so very hard lately and were either writing in your sleep, or just didn't have time to get the details straight. Oh well. "Merry Christmas."_

It was because of her insufferable sassy mouth, Charlotte figured, that when it was actually Christmas time, she received nothing from Bobby.

But by that point, she could easily tell herself it didn't matter. She went to the Winter Ball at her high school with Ralph, and as it happened, learned very quickly that his Paul Newman cavalier was all smoke in mirrors. But at least Ralph wasn't out getting high.

Charlotte's time in North Carolina was stretching into another year, and she barely even noticed that she hadn't asked to go home in awhile. June Ann and Uncle Curtis seemed happy she was there, she would miss Joanna and Hazel too much to leave now, and the school wasn't so bad after all.

As for Bobby, well, he'd clearly come up with ways to fend for himself.

Every now and then she'd think about him. Most often during the hot Carolina summer nights. She wondered what happened to the boy she knew, that other life she'd lived. Did she miss them, truly? Or was she just as happy that all that yearning to be "normal" and longing to be loved that had plagued her back then were behind her?

Aunt Lila stopped mentioning Charlotte coming home during their phone calls. In time, Charlotte finally even spoke to her mother again for a few minutes at a time, though not often. It almost seemed as though an unspoken agreement between the women of her family kept her in Iron Station and away from all the drama that lay waiting for her back in California.

She no longer minded. Charlotte soared through high school in her new world, given new wings from friendship, living in a happy home, and being carefree for the first time in her life.

The final time she cried over Bobby was when she got a letter in 1957, the summer after she graduated from West Lincoln High School. It was the first time she'd heard from him in over two years.

 _Charlotte,  
I know it's been a long time since I was in touch. I hope life is treating you well. I wanted you to be one of the first of my long-distance friends to know that I am now married to a great girl – my Marilyn Jean. I've taken a break from seriously acting for awhile, because now's the time for me to be a man and provide for my wife – and for our baby. That's right, she's expecting! I can hardly believe I'm going to be a father. I'm excited and terrified all at once._

 _I've started working at a haberdashery in town so we can settle into a normal life. I always wanted to tell you I'm sorry for the bad birthday card I sent you last year. I was going through a hard time back then. But you don't need to worry about me anymore, because I'm back to myself, and life's going to be great._

 _I really want you to meet Marilyn if you ever come back to California. I know you would like her, and she would like you too. I've told her you were one of my best friends growing up._

 _All the Best, Lotte,  
Robert_

Charlotte set the letter down with a trembling hand.

 _Robert._

 _Marilyn Jean._

 _Baby._

 _Baby?!_

Suddenly, the wall Charlotte had been building over the last couple years between her present and her past seemed to collapse to dust and she was that fourteen-year-old girl again, leaning out the window of her aunt's old Mercury and waving at Bobby like a leading lady as he stood on the curb and smiled after her.

The force of the memory hit her with a sharp blow.

When did this happen? At what point did she give permission for _her dream_ to be given to someone else?

And… most importantly… why did she suddenly care again? She and Bobby had been fond of each other once. They had been friends longer, since she was a little girl. But all that was in the past. Of course he could marry someone else - he _should_ be marrying someone else. The two of them hadn't even talked much the last few years.

Yet and still, the sore spot in her heart caused her entire chest to feel tight.

"When did you turn into Robert?" she murmured. "Where did Bobby go, and why didn't he take me with him?"

When she got past her rawest emotions over Bobby's marriage, Charlotte began to realize how good it could be for him. To have a supportive wife and children to focus on could potentially be the best thing to keep him grounded and out of trouble.

It was with these thoughts that she officially said goodbye to Bobby in her heart, laying to rest her childish hopes and dreams of forever being by his side. He had been her first crush – her pie in the sky dream. She considered herself lucky to have come as close to it as she did by being considered one of his best friends.

After she let him go, Charlotte was surprised by how quickly the thoughts of him began to seep out of her mind for awhile. She knew this was owed in part to enrolling in design school in Raleigh, a venture which gave her life new purpose that carried her from a helpless child to an empowered woman at last. She had always known what she wanted: to become a fashion designer and go back to Disney Studios in Burbank to work after college. This would be the first step to making it happen.

Time continued its ruthless march.

Charlotte kept busy at school and with various internships, seeing June Ann and Uncle Curtis only on her sporadic visits back to Iron Station. Despite the fact that June Ann lamented her niece's lack of social life, Charlotte felt the happiest she could remember ever being. By the time she graduated with her degree in 1961 among only a small handful of women, Charlotte felt a calm serenity about who she was and where her life was going.

And Bobby? By the time she graduated, she had heard he was already divorced after having had three children with Marilyn Jean. The thought of him doing yet another thing he should have known better to do – to leave his wife alone to raise three stairstep children who were still virtually babies – infuriated Charlotte and caused her to reconcile, for the final time, that if men were always destined to be this irresponsible and uncaring, she was more than happy to forgo that ball and chain.

Charlotte's joy and contentment with life, however, came to a screeching halt when she received word from home that Aunt Lila was ailing with pneumonia. Her aunt's arthritis, she knew, had progressed to the point where she was unable to move about like she once did, and her new stationary lifestyle had ushered in a plethora of respiratory illnesses. Bronchitis and high fevers afflicted Aunt Lila in tandem, and it soon became apparent that the stout older woman who had always been the very definition of a rock to Charlotte wouldn't last the month. Accompanied by June Ann, Charlotte took the first plane she could catch back to Los Angeles when she heard the news, where she stayed glued to her aunt's side as she took her dying breath.

The sense of loss was staggering. Aunt Lila had been one of the three women who had taken part in raising Charlotte, and though she hadn't been under her aunt's care for years by this point, Aunt Lila's departure from her world left a hole in her heart she wasn't sure she could ever fill.

Second to that was the knowledge that it would fall to her to look after her mother. Marlyss took short spells of sobriety in between months of drinking herself into a stupor every night, and by this time, it was clear to Charlotte that this would likely continue as a lifelong pattern.

As much as it grated on Charlotte to have to be responsible for her chronically irresponsible mother, she knew it would be the right thing to do to go home. It was what Aunt Lila would have expected now that she was a grown woman. In a way, it felt like something Aunt Lila had even planned – to hold on long enough for Charlotte to get her college degree, form dreams of her own that could be realized back in Burbank – and then, to come home to take over the reins. She could practically hear her aunt's strong voice in her ear, echoing what she had said years ago.

 _It's what families do._

It was a tearful goodbye Charlotte gave to June Ann, who had been the truest mother she had ever known, and to protective, if somber, Uncle Curtis, in order to make her way back to Burbank. But this time, she was no longer an angry teenage girl. She felt every bit a strong, capable woman on the cusp of making something great out of her life like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

"About time you came back to see me," her visibly aged mother had grunted from the couch the day Charlotte had disembarked from the taxi and opened the front door to the home she'd once shared with both her parents. She had to fairly fight back the nausea that overcame her at the sight of her mother, clutching a bottle in her veined hand, red-lacquered nails glistening garishly.

"Yes, Mother… here I am." Charlotte closed the door behind her after she pulled her luggage in by herself, and put her hands on her hips, regarding the older woman with only half the disdain she actually felt.

Predictably, life back home was a struggle from the very first day. A pattern established itself early, and that pattern was one Charlotte imagined her father and Aunt Lila both had come to know quite well. First would always come the drinking binges in which her mother trashed the house and passed out every night either on the floor or the couch. Second would come the repentance, during which time Marlyss pulled out all the stops to draw Charlotte in again with syrupy affection. As easy as it was to fall into her mother's arms all over again from sheer exhaustion and loneliness, Charlotte managed to keep Marlyss at a cool distance until the cycle repeated itself. To mix it up occasionally, her mother would become attached to the random man she would meet at the liquor store and attempt to bring him home until Charlotte squashed the behavior. These were the times Charlotte could count on being on the receiving end of her mother's bone-chilling insults, hurled drunkenly across the house or the yard during her angry tirades.

It was on such a night in 1962 that Charlotte finally learned the truth about her father.

"Know why he doesn't ever write? Why he's never called? He has a new family, that's why!" Her mother practically spat the words at her.

"Mother, calm down. Let me run you a bath," Charlotte had trained herself to only pay half attention to her mother's remarks during such moments, even though the mention of her father always caused her back to stiffen.

"Oh yes!" her mother followed along behind her as she tried aimlessly to tidy things up, corralling her own anger into check. "Didn't you ever wonder? Well, I tried hard not to have to tell you, but it was that secretary of his. He ran off from here, and six months later, they were married. Has four grinning milk-fed brats while you've been thrown around all over the country and I've been sitting here, drowning in my beer. How d'you like that?"

With that, her mother sat down in the bathtub, fully clothed, as though waiting for Charlotte to go ahead and run the water.

But Charlotte couldn't move. "What did you say?"

"Oh, don't pretend you didn't hear it," her mother snapped. "He didn't want us. That's all it came down to. 'Marlyss's drinking' bullsh*t. He had the perfect opportunity to go out and get himself a replacement family. Now hurry up and run some water if you're going to, I'm cold."

Charlotte felt as though she'd been socked with a brick as she stared wordlessly down at her mother. "You're lying, Mother. You always lie when you're stinking drunk."

"Oh?" her mother sneered. "And what did you think he was off doing all this time? Thinking about you? He forgot about you long ago, Baby Girl. And he forgot about me, too. Just imagine a man like that…"

What had Charlotte thought this whole time? That her father was somewhere waiting in the wings to swoop back in and save them both after enough time had passed? She knew the divorce had made the separation official, sure; but somewhere in the back of her mind, she had hoped it was simply a lesson he had been trying to teach her mother.

After he'd gone so long without contacting her, she'd even thought there was a chance he could be dead. Better that than this. At least there would be a good reason he'd left her alone.

Suddenly, anger overtook Charlotte and, before even trying to help her mother out of her clothes, she turned the shower full-blast on cold. "You want a bath, Mother? Take one. And get sober while you're at it."

Her mother shrieked, grappling for the water faucet. "You little brat, get back here and turn this off!"

But by this point, Charlotte was halfway out the front door, tears blinding her.

She made her way out to Aunt Lila's ancient Mercury – the car that had fallen to her, at least until she could make enough money to trade it in for something better – and cranked it quickly, crying like she hadn't cried in years.

Just like that, Charlotte was again the jaded young girl she had once been.

She spun the Mercury's wheels when her job of backing out of the driveway botched terribly and she caught the rear wheel in the culvert by the mailbox. But given a little gas, the car pulled itself out of the ditch, and Charlotte sped down the road.

 _Get control… get control._

She didn't know where to go or what to do. She couldn't show back up at June Ann's and Uncle Curtis's and beg to be put up by them again, and even if she dared to, she didn't have enough money left from what Uncle Curtis had given her to purchase a plane ticket.

And so, Charlotte found herself speeding toward a motel on the other side of town that she'd passed a few times. It was the only place she could think of in her addled state. If she could just get away from her mother for one night, process what she'd just learned and maybe get a good night's rest, she would surely be able to face anything. She always had been.

The motel was a seedy place in the bad part of Los Angeles, but she knew she could afford it. She had no clothes with her, not even a nightgown, but she didn't need one. She'd sleep in a cardboard box if it meant getting away from home.

The man at the counter leered at her as he handed over the key, and Charlotte shuddered, making her way down the dimly lit hallway toward Room 63. With any luck, she would have at least managed to get a room with an extra lock on the inside.

Thankfully, the room did have a slide lock, and Charlotte collapsed onto the bed after securing it, pulling the covers over her head without bothering to take her shoes off first. The walls were thin and she could hear the goings on in the rooms on either side of her, but she was amazed at how comforting the noises were in comparison to those of her mother in the bathroom throwing up.

She was almost asleep when she heard a knock on the door.

Ignoring it, Charlotte wadded the comforter up around her ears and closed her eyes once more.

But the knocking was persistent.

Irritated, she tossed the comforter off, stood up, and stomped to the door. "What is it?"

There was a pause from the other side, before a stuffy-sounding man responded. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Ma'am. I just wondered if I might borrow your hot plate?"

Closing her eyes and resting her forehead against the door, Charlotte replied, "I don't have one."

Another pause.

The voice began again, patiently. "I'm… really sorry, again, to bother you, but I think each room is supposed to have a hot plate. I have one, see, but… it's bro—" the man stopped mid-sentence to sneeze, "… broken, and the super said I might ask around of my neighbors to borrow one of theirs. I can leave it outside your door when I'm through with it. It won't take long, I just want some tea."

Sighing heavily, Charlotte stood up straight and scanned the room, her eyes coming to rest on the hot plate sitting on a rickety table in the far lefthand corner.

"Hold on." She went over, took the hot plate, picking it up hastily and pulling the cord out from the wall.

"Here." She opened the door. "And don't bother bringing it ba—"

Charlotte stopped dead, eyes wide.

There on the other side of the door stood none other than Bobby Driscoll.

It was undeniable. He was now a grown man, but he still bore each facial feature she had committed to memory so many years ago – the arched eyebrows framing soulful brown eyes; his pug nose; his full lips. He was barely taller than he had been back then, but his frame had refined itself into that of a man's and not a boy's.

His nose, however, was red, and his eyes puffy. Clearly he was sick.

Bobby stared back for a moment before his tired eyes widened and he smiled, causing Charlotte to feel her heart crunch. "… It can't be. Lotte? What are… what are you doing here?" Upon asking the question, his smile dissolved and his brow furrowed.

It took a few seconds for Charlotte to reply. "Long story. Um… hello, Bob."

But her amazement upon seeing him – and her fluttering heart, an echo of her teenage years – all faded as reality returned to her.

Bobby wasn't the same person he had been back then, she realized ruefully. Every single flawed person from her youth - him, her mother, her father - couldn't seem to stay in the past where they belonged these days.

The changes in Bobby were not only evident from the stories she had heard in the last few years, but also in the expression he now wore – no longer that of a carefree young man. Still young enough, maybe, but Bobby had apparently seen enough hard living his past few years that there were lines etched into his brow that hadn't been there before. He looked over her now, seeming to scrutinize her every inch.

Charlotte frowned and found herself tucking one of her feet behind the other, wanting to hide from him.

Catching onto the gesture, his eyes reached her face again. "Lotte, I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to be rude, just… you're n…" he shifted. "There are only a handful of reasons that women come to a place like this by themselves, and I was afraid maybe you'd fallen on hard times, too..." His eyes clouded over with concern. "You're not doing business here, are you...?"

Charlotte's mouth dropped open.

"Nevermind, I'm sorry." Bobby said quickly and took a step back, obviously realizing he'd gone too far in his implications. What kinds of things had he seen, exactly, in the last few years?

She wanted to close the door right then. Seeing him in this setting, looking like a wastrel, was doing nothing for her mood. Here in front of her was a man who had given himself over to substances, left his wife and children, and had even just implied she was at a seedy hotel to prostitute. "Y-You've got some kind of nerve," Charlotte finally stammered, cheeks rosy, "but here's your d*mn hot plate." She practically slung it at him by the cord.

"Charlotte, wait. Wait, I'm… can we just start over?" Bobby put his hand out to stop her from closing the door. "I… I didn't mean to upset you. I think my first thought, when I saw you here was, 'Has it been as bad for her as it has been for me?' I tend to forget some people didn't make crummy decisions like I did, and Lotte, you…" he shook his head, "… you were always smart. You wouldn't go down those kind of roads. I'm sorry I hurt you or made you angry."

Charlotte didn't close the door, but leaned back against the threshold, giving him his time to talk.

He stood there, awkwardly holding the hot plate, glancing behind her like he wanted to come in. His clothes, she noticed, were wrinkled and ill-fitting.

That's when she found suddenly that she had a whole lot she wanted to say first. "I'm here to get away from Mother for a night. I'm taking care of her now. Why are _you_ here, Bob? Why aren't you home with Marilyn and your kids, huh?" she folded her arms. "Oh wait, you left them, didn't you? A few years ago? So then, that would have to mean you're here to snort coke. Or whatever it is you do these days."

The look in Bobby's eyes went from surprise to hurt to dull anger. He stood there for a long moment, watching her, almost as though he were trying to search her eyes for something – a sign of mercy?

Charlotte had none of that to give him.

Finally he turned away, murmuring, "I'm just out of rehabilitation at China prison and… needed somewhere to go for a couple of nights before I get settled into my apartment. That's all. Thanks for the hot plate, I'll leave it by your door."

With that, Bobby began to walk back toward what was presumably his room. Charlotte stood glued to the spot, watching as he walked into Room 68. She was still unable to move after he was gone.

He had wanted to talk, _pleasantly_. That much was clear. He probably either wanted to relive happier times with her, reflect on an age when things were far simpler… or he'd maybe just needed the comfort of a friend. He was clearly without care here in this run-down motel, and Charlotte had, with a handful of smartly issued words, turned into razor-tongued Lotte Leyton once again.

She reasoned at first that she had good cause to be, and went back into her room, shutting the door hard. Getting back into bed, this time taking the time to kick off her shoes first, Charlotte closed her eyes.

It was impossible to sleep.

Memories poured forth out of a hidden compartment of her brain, and continued to stream down until they turned into tears. Bobby may have done some stupid things since she'd been gone, that much was for sure. But he was an old childhood friend who had always been kind to her, and he didn't quite deserve the harsh rebuke she'd just issued. She figured he probably heard the same and worse, even, from almost everyone else in his life.

Finally she sat up, kicked off the covers once more, and slipped her shoes back on.

Opening her door and checking the hallway to be sure nothing was amiss out there, she walked down to Room 68 and knocked.

It took only a moment for Bobby to open the door, but he didn't open it far. And he wasn't smiling. "I'm almost done with it," he said flatly, apparently speaking of the hot plate.

Charlotte swallowed. "I'm not… here for that. I'm here to say I'm sorry. It was unkind of me to bring up Marilyn and the kids, and... the thing about coke. I didn't mean to be so cruel. I'm just in a bad mood."

She stopped there. Any explanation she could give for how sharply she had greeted him would be laughably insufficient.

Bobby had always been the most forgiving soul she'd known. But now, he only looked on stoically, waiting. Either for something more or something different.

"So that's all I can say, Bobby, I'm just sorry. For all of it. It's really not any of my business what you've done. And I… I wondered if I could come in. To talk."

He stood watching her a moment more before opening the door wider. Charlotte stepped in.

She looked around and saw that he had evidently tried to straighten up the room at least a little, and he hurried around to do so now. But it was far from spotless, or even comfortable-looking. Charlotte noted the wad of dirty tissues in the corner that had overspilled the trash can they were in.

But a man was a man, and Bobby was one who had only ever had a mother and a wife to help pick up after him. Charlotte imagined the act of cleaning to be an overwhelming task for him right now, particularly as he was fresh out of prison and feeling under the weather.

He obviously read her mind. "I've been sick, so… it's a bit messy. Sorry," he mumbled behind her.

Charlotte simply gave a nod and moved toward the tissues to began scooping them up off the floor, cramming them back into the trash can. It was the least she could do as a peace offering. "I'll just take this out for you," she called behind her. "You really need a clean room if you want to get better at all. Haven't you let the housekeeper in?"

Bobby shook his head almost bashfully and lit up a cigarette. He took a long drag off of it before replying, "This is the first time I've had space to myself in six months. I've really liked having the solitude."

Charlotte set the trash can next to the door, and went over to the bed to start stripping sheets.

"Lotte, please. You don't have to do all that," he came over and began to help her. "I can do it, I just haven't. I'm sure you have enough of this to do at home with your mom."

But she shook her head stubbornly, removing each sheet and the comforter, putting them in a pile to wash. "I'll ask for some fresh sheets. It's the least we can do in here. Did you make your tea?"

"Kind of, yes. I don't know how to make the best tea, but I remember my mother making tea for my throat when it was sore. So I thought I'd try," Bobby finally sank down into a chair.

Charlotte could tell from looking in the teacup that was sitting close to the hotplate and kettle that this wasn't drinkable tea, and she unceremoniously poured it down the sink.

"Let's start over with it, shall we?" she couldn't resist throwing a small smile over her shoulder at him.

He smiled back fondly, and Charlotte realized yet again how careworn he looked. A lingering sadness was visible in his eyes, which was almost too much for her to bear as she turned back around and set about making him a decent cup of tea.

"Tell me about everything," she finally broke the silence as the kettle was reheating. "No judgment. I just want to know about your life." She came over to sit on the bed across from his chair.

It was well past midnight when both Charlotte and Bobby finished their summaries of the last few years. They lay side by side facing one another on the newly-made bed, despite the impropriety Charlotte couldn't help but feel Aunt Lila would be frowning at.

Bobby had cried as he had told her about his drug use – and prison time. He even cried when he mentioned the way he'd handled leaving his little ones, and his ex-wife Marilyn.

"Lotte, things with Marilyn and I ended awhile back, and not just... because of my drugs. It had been hard for a really long time between us. Other people have the children now, but I'm trying to support them, and I do still see them. I love them," he'd stated firmly. "I just... I don't know how to be the right kind of father to them right now while I'm so messed up myself. But you wait, I'm out of prison now, and I'm a new man. I'm going to straighten myself out and at least try to get Dan back. A boy needs his dad."

Charlotte had listened to him with a new sense of perspective, and when her time came to talk about the last ten years, she realized that, while Bobby's life had gone south in that decade, hers had improved greatly – until recently.

When she had gotten to the point about why she'd left her mother's that night, she tread carefully. "I think that's why I was so angry at you. I looked at you and saw both my mother and my father, and the things they've done that have hurt me. But now, I just see you. My mom and dad both, they were their own people, and I guess I don't really know why they made the choices they made. But maybe…" she trailed off, finding it difficult to say that maybe, if she'd found it in her heart to extend grace to Bobby for his failings, she could do the same for her parents.

By the end of their long conversation, exhaustion had overtaken them both. Bobby reached over to turn out the lamp and Charlotte rolled over, basking in his warmth and in the comfort of realizing he was right beside her. She felt him move in closer and slip an arm around her waist, still appropriately high enough to remind her he was a gentleman.

She smiled, and was almost instantly wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and sweet sleep.

The sleep kept her in its grip until, some time later into the night, she felt Bobby's arm around her waist tighten slightly, and felt his lips brushing against the back of her neck. An odd sensation swept over her entire body as her eyes opened, and she took his hand, rolling over to face him.

"Lotte..." he whispered, and she could see his eyes shining in the moonlight that fell in through the window. There was a certain tension in his voice that was both foreign and exciting to her.

Before she could stop herself, she reached up to unbutton his shirt with trembling fingers, scared to death, but fueled by a delicious heat. One action seamlessly unfolded into the next as he shifted to crawl over her and help with the buttons.

Once the shirt was out of the way, Charlotte took his lips in a breathless kiss.

After just those acts, the wall she'd kept rebuilding over the years against her first love was leveled to dust.

The next few minutes moved quickly but tenderly as Charlotte experienced sensations and emotions she never knew existed - a pinch of pain at first, but it didn't last. After that, she lost track of time as she found warmth in Bobby's white heat, gentle hands and soft lips. Hours passed, and even though she knew, as she and Bobby made love, that giving herself to him might be something that would only hurt worse later, it was all she wanted in that moment.

It was nearly dawn when they fell asleep, tangled up underneath the bedspread. Just before Charlotte faded away, she felt Bobby brush the loose strands of hair out of her face, his eyelashes fluttering against her forehead as he prepared to drift off himself.

Charlotte never told anyone about that night. True to what she suspected, waves of remorse crashed over her as she realized that – for all the strength in his embrace and the love that was shared during those hours between them – she had inextricably tied herself to Bobby with even more bittersweet chains she would never break. She knew, even as she woke and cleaned the rest of his room to sort through her torrid emotions – even as he came up behind her while she was making him another cup of tea and slipped his arms around her – and even as they clutched one another's hands one final time when she got ready to go, trading a silent gratitude for the comfort they had given one other on a painful night – that she could not be his.

She could not be his because Bobby didn't need to be anyone's project, and it would be all too easy for her to make him hers. There was also the fact that he already had a family, despite any pieces of paper claiming "divorce." Those children was probably waiting every second for him to come back to claim them. Suppose she and Bobby did overcome the odds and made a life together of their own? What about his son and two little girls? She had been from a broken home, too. Could she be a part of doing to them what her father had done to her, simply start over with a new family? Even if they came to live with them, might they feel second-rate?

No. The most Bobby could give her was behind her now. But she would carry the memory in the deepest part of her heart.

He seemed to sense her thoughts without her needing to voice them - as he always had - and was quiet as she redressed. She left with the promise on both their parts to keep in touch, and to take care of themselves for each other. A silent gratitude for the comfort they had given one another through a painful night passed between them as they released hands. After that, there was nothing else to do but for Charlotte to back home to face her mother and resume her life.

She and Bobby could always feel the way they felt on that night. Just not together.

For awhile, Charlotte waited with bated breath for a sign that she was not pregnant, greatly concerned due to how easily Bobby had apparently spawned his three stairstep children. Thankfully the sign came, and the only physical ramification she carried away with her from their union was Bobby's cold.

A few weeks later, she received word from Disney that Mrs. Davis had remembered her, and the woman called her in for an interview. Charlotte was thereafter hired on for the rather average job of working in the sewing pool at Disney Studios, but it was a job she was happy to have. She got busy proving herself to be indispensable, and soon, she was.

Back home, her mother continued to cycle with her relapses, and Charlotte continued to mop up her messes. But over time, she felt a certain strength building inside her that enabled her to bear it all.

Charlotte didn't hear anything from Bobby for awhile. Two years passed, in fact, before she received one last letter from him, telling her his parole had expired and he was leaving for New York to try his luck with doing art there, and maybe breaking onto Broadway.

Reading the letter, Charlotte couldn't help but smile, remembering that night so long ago at his house in Pacific Palisades.

 _Let's run away together to New York City!_

The memory echoed in her mind as she tucked the letter away in the box she'd kept for Bobby's letters.

She prayed he would make it, and that he would stay safe.

But most of all, she prayed that after he'd had his fill of the bright lights of New York, he would come back home.

It was a prayer she recited every time over the next six years that his face came to her mind. It visited her frequently at first, and then finally, it stopped for awhile.

She didn't hear from Bobby again. But she never heard of him making it on Broadway, either.

And now, she knew why.


	6. The Moment You Doubt Whether You Can Fly

Lotte sat at the diner with her face in her hands. How she longed for a drink much stronger than coffee, but she'd never before dared to turn to her mother's poison, and she wasn't going to now.

The tears that continued to fall irritated her, but they couldn't be stopped. Every sound was too much, let alone the Buffalo Springfield lyrics that belted out from the jukebox in the corner.

 _Paranoia strikes deep_  
 _Into your life it will creep_  
 _It starts when you're always afraid_  
 _You step out of line, the man come and take you away_

 _It's time we stop_  
 _Hey, what's that sound?_  
 _Everybody look what's going down…_

A waitress with a gray beehive and electric blue eyeshadow approached the table. "Can't I get you anything else, Hon? I made some wonderful tomato soup just now. It's great comfort food."

Charlotte shook her hand, grabbing another fistful of napkins from the table dispenser. "No, I'm… I'm okay. Thank you. What time do you close?"

"We're open all night," the waitress smiled sweetly. "Want me to keep the coffee coming?"

"Sure," Charlotte wiped her eyes. "Though I should probably switch to decaf…"

"Good choice," the older woman winked, heading off.

Charlotte tiredly scanned the menu, noting the various colorful advertisements printed at the bottom. In bold font at the very center was a lawyer advertisement: "Stand up for Attorney Robert Ablow, and he'll stand up for you!"

She traced her finger absently over _Robert_.

What could Bobby have been if he'd not been fired from Disney? What if he had, after a time, quit acting on his own as Kathryn Beaumont had, and found another dream to live out? Charlotte had certainly heard enough of his big ideas growing up to know he certainly had them.

Charlotte shook her head, turning the menu over and ordering pie when the waitress came to refill her coffee. This wasn't the night for figure watching. After eating it and realizing she felt absolutely no better, however, she lay her head on the table and stared out the window at the nighttime traffic. She knew she should go home and let her mom know she was safe – and in turn, check to be sure her mom was safe as well - but she could barely move. So she watched the white lights of the passing cars until they grew blurry.

* * *

 _It's a beautiful morning._  
 _I think I'll go outside for awhile._  
 _And just smile!_

Charlotte jarred awake to the lyrics belting from the jukebox and sat up abruptly, sunlight from the window blinding her sandpaper eyes and pain surging down her jaw. She felt like she'd been hit by a truck.

Had she slept here the entire night?

She made inadvertent eye contact with a businessman sitting in the booth in front of hers, his gaze sympathetic. Fumbling in her purse, Charlotte pulled out a larger-than-necessary bill to leave for the kind waitress who had let her sleep when she'd had all grounds to throw her out in the middle of the night once the coffee orders had stopped. Then she got up and headed out through the breakfast crowd toward her car, feeling cramped and out of sorts from spending the night in a booth.

Despite her physical discomfort however, Charlotte's mind suddenly felt sharp as a pin. She knew what she was going to spend her Saturday doing.

Sheer exhaustion weighed down her limbs, but she managed to drive home and was met at the door by her mother.

"Where were you?!" Marlyss Leyton demanded. "I waited up for you til two!"

"No you didn't," Charlotte hung her keys up. "You never stay up past ten for anything."

Her mother didn't argue, instead putting her hands on her hips. "Did you stay with a man last night? You know how I feel about that, Charlotte Olivia."

Charlotte let out a snort of laughter. "Do you really think I went from having no dates to sleepovers with men, Mom?" She chose not to mention her mother's own past liaisons.

"Are you going to clean the house today? It needs it, you know," her mother's continued, following behind as Charlotte made her way toward her room.

"I'll clean tonight. Today, I have somewhere to go. I'm going to get ready for a shower." With that, she closed the door to her bedroom, rubbing her temples.

Guilt glowed brightly in Charlotte's head, nagging her for not being a better, more grateful and attentive daughter. Sure, she cleaned up after her mother and ran the household. But she had little to nothing to give her mom emotionally, nor was she interested in giving it.

Pushing the thoughts from her mind for now, she gathered her things and headed toward the shower. She had a lot to do.

* * *

Charlotte took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell, feeling like that fourteen-year-old girl from years ago all over again as she stood on the Driscolls' doorstep.

It took a moment for Mrs. Driscoll to answer. The woman, visibly aged in the last ten years, blinked. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," Charlotte clutched her bag – the alligator purse she'd been gifted with so many years before – and pressed on. "I'm Charlotte Leyton. I was… a friend of Bobby's when we were teenagers. I'm not sure if you remember me, but I wanted to come by t—"

"Charlotte? Lotte?" Mrs. Driscoll finally smiled. "Of course I remember you. Please, come in."

Charlotte did so, looking all around her as she went. The house looked exactly as it had before, even if she could now feel an air of sadness here. Her heart began to race as she walked through the hall, feeling the sudden, overwhelming urge to race upstairs to Bobby's room. In a house frozen in time, surely he would still be there, waiting for her with that big, infectious grin - and those crescent moon eyes.

But Charlotte held her emotions in check as Mrs. Driscoll lead her to the living room and offered her a seat. "Can I get you coffee? Tea?"

"No thank you," Charlotte fairly winced, as the decaf coffee from the night before now felt sour on her stomach. But she sat. "I hope I'm not disturbing anything. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I would drop by to see how you and your husband are doing. I've been thinking a lot about Bob lately, and was wondering if anyone's heard from him."

Isabel Driscoll sighed. "No, I haven't. Not in over a year now. Odd for him, really, but of course Mr. Driscoll and I have come to accept that it may be awhile before Bobby pulls his act together," she glanced off.

Charlotte paused. Had Bobby truly died, wouldn't the family have been the first to be notified?

"So then you've… lost touch with him completely."

Mrs. Driscoll nodded faintly. "It would seem that way. The last I heard from him, he was telling me how hard it was to find work over there. I don't know why he doesn't just come back home and try to start over here. I feel like there might be a handful of film executives who would give him a chance…" the older woman trailed off, reaching out to finger the lace edging of a carefully arranged doily beside her on an end table. "Well, I suppose I do know why he won't. Bob is stubborn, just like I am." She turned to cast a sad smile at Charlotte. "He told me before he left that he was going to go prove himself – redeem his name after having ruined it."

Charlotte swallowed. Bobby would be that strong one.

 _Then what had happened?_

"And you…" Charlotte paused, not sure how to phrase the next part. "You think he's safe? That everything's alright?"

It was a mere glimmer of something she saw in Mrs. Driscoll's eye that gave away the woman's true emotions. For a fraction of a second, Bobby's mother seemed on the threshold of breaking. But just as quickly, she regained composure in a way that caused Charlotte to wonder if she'd just imagined her strength failing the first place.

"I do," Isabel replied with conviction. "I believe that if Bob were in trouble, he would reach out to us. It's… maybe what I have to believe, but until it's proven otherwise, I wait every day for his call."

Charlotte swallowed a second time, the lump in her throat larger now.

 _Bobby, what happened to you? Were you murdered in a bad drug deal? Did you overdose…? Did you hurt before you slipped away? Were you alone?_

"I-I'm sorry, may I use your restroom?" Charlotte scrambled to collect her purse.

But Mrs. Driscoll leaned forward and took her arm gently. "Lotte."

Charlotte could no longer hide her raw grief as she looked back up at Bobby's mother.

"It's okay to cry, you know. Go ahead and cry for Bobby if you need to. I would myself, if I could afford to," Mrs. Driscoll tilted her head in a gesture of maternal comfort. "But I have to stay strong. For Clete. He's not doing very well right now, and he needs me to keep the faith. But even so... nothing turned out the way we thought it would for Bobby, did it?"

Charlotte could only shake her head, wordlessly.

"And so it's alright to be sad for it. For him."

If only she could tell Mrs. Driscoll that it went much further, that it was way worse. That Bobby was gone. But no one seemed to know it yet. So why did she?

"How are the little ones?" she finally managed to speak again.

"Not so little anymore, I'm afraid," Mrs. Driscoll gave her arm one more gentle squeeze before letting go and leaning back. "We don't get to see them, of course. Marilyn hasn't had an easy time of it, but her parents have tried to take over where Bobby left off, thank God, and they stay close to them. I've not seen them in years."

The idea mystified Charlotte. She wanted to urge Isabel to seize this moment and call them – to show up at their home, beg to see her grandchildren. They were all she would have left of Bobby now.

But Charlotte nodded meekly instead. "I bet at least a couple of them look just like him…."

"Mmm." Mrs. Driscoll sat her tea cup down again, and then smiled. "Oh yes."

Silence followed for a couple of minutes before Bobby's mother, staring off, asked wistfully, "Do you want to see his room?"

Feeling her heart crack all over again, Charlotte shook her head. "I… that would be a swell thing, Mrs. Driscoll. But maybe some other time, I've really got to get going. I promised Mother I'd clean house today."

Despite the momentary urge she'd had earlier to run up to Bobby's room, Charlotte knew that she could never again go back there. It would hurt too badly.

The goodbyes she exchanged with Isabel Driscoll were an attempt at cheer, at hopefulness. It was a charade she could hardly bear.

Just before Charlotte escaped out the front door, the other woman spoke once more. "You were a good friend to him, Lotte. I think he always knew he could depend on you to accept him for who he really was," she smiled. "It's why childhood friends are so important. They know our history, but still believe in our future. Bobby always knew you were one of the invaluable ones."

Charlotte clutched her purse more tightly, afraid she might lose all strength and drop everything. "… Thank you, Mrs. Driscoll. That means a lot coming from you."

With that, she gave one final smile to the woman who had loved Bobby longer than anyone, and turned to walk back to her car.

* * *

"Lotte?!"

The screen door opened in front of Charlotte, and out walked Opal, holding a pigtailed baby girl on her hip. "What're you doing here? Want to talk about Arthur, finally?" her friend beamed.

Charlotte had to force her jollity, and gave a brief laugh to match Opal's mood - Opal, who was always cheerful. "No… nothing to do with Arthur. But I did want to talk to you about something else. If…" she regarded the toddler with an indulgent smile, "… it's not a bad time."

"Not bad at all!" Opal shrugged. "I was just about to put Maggie down for a nap, and then I'm all yours. Come in and have a seat, grab a Coke out of the fridge. I'll be right back!" Her coworker turned and quickly lead her into the small kitchen, which lay just beyond the front door, before disappearing again quickly with her daughter.

Charlotte looked around. As long as she'd known Opal, and for all Opal had gone through to try to befriend her, she had never once come here to her home - despite having been invited multiple times. It was a small affair, on what Aunt Lila would have called "the wrong side of the tracks," but Opal's kitchen spoke red polka-dotted happiness and contentment. It made Charlotte smile in spite of the heaviness in her heart.

Several minutes went by before Opal reappeared. "Here we are!" she paused by an old Frigidaire to pull out two Cokes of her own accord, handing one to Charlotte. "So what's on your mind? I figure you wouldn't be here if it wasn't something grave."

Guilt washed over Charlotte. "You're right, I probably wouldn't be. Listen, Opal, I've not been great about socializing. And I'm sorry. You know me, I get busy w—"

"You're hiding, Charlotte."

Charlotte looked back at Opal abruptly, surprised to see the sweet smile still covering her friend's perfectly made up face.

Opal repeated her last line matter-of-factly. "You're hiding. You've always hidden from people, haven't you?"

Charlotte sighed. "Opal, _that_. _You_ and _that._ You always know things. How?"

Opal shrugged, taking Charlotte's Coke back over to the Frigidaire and popping the top off. "Gift from my grandmother. Just like I told you."

"Not that it makes me happy somebody can read me like a book," Charlotte rubbed her forehead. "But okay, you win. I hide. There's only been one person I've ever… not felt I had to hide from. It's odd, given who he was. But for some reason I always knew he accepted me. We kind of had this… mutual understanding that neither of us was who people thought we were. Past him, I struggle." She took a sip of her Coke, setting it back down on the table resolutely, looking straight at Opal. "I admit it, I do."

But amazingly, her friend's eyes continued to hold a simple, uncomplicated smile, as though they were talking about a trip to the grocery store. "And it's okay, you know. When that next person comes along who can win your heart and earn your trust like the first… you'll open up again. Think of yourself as a closed blossom."

A corner of Charlotte's mouth lifted in a smirk, but Opal reached over and took her hand. "You will meet that person," she spoke with a sincerity that took Charlotte offguard. "He's very close. You've just got to keep that heart of yours open for anything."

Charlotte hadn't been sure why she'd found herself at Opal's front door until she'd arrived there, but of course: the girl, while presenting as a flake, had an uncanny sixth sense about people. What's more, Charlotte knew something else about Opal that her friend didn't share with everyone.

Opal had seen things, and more than just things that existed in their world.

It had previously unsettled her to hear some of the woman's stories as they'd sat close together back in her sewing pool days, the steady hum of the machines around them obscuring Opal's words from most of the other seamstresses . But now? Charlotte could appreciate that Opal may well be the only person who would understand what she was going through.

Charlotte shifted in the metal chair. "Opal, this... thing I need to talk to you about, it's something that's, um…" she paused. "Remember the story you told me once about the anchor…? Back when you lived on the beach with your parents?"

Opal's eyes became serious. "Yes. I could never forget that."

"Well it's… kind of something along those lines; I mean, something hard to explain and that not just anyone would believe." Charlotte let her gaze slide from Opal's face to the Coke bottle. "I don't think I've ever felt so confused."

Opal leaned forward on the table. "I'm ready. Tell me."

Charlotte took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and - taking nearly an hour - told Opal the story of her and Bobby Driscoll.

* * *

At the end, Opal simply nodded as though she were accepting the most natural facts the world had to offer.

Charlotte stared in disbelief. "You're nodding. You nod, at the end of all that," she began to chuckle.

Opal shrugged. "It's human existence, Charlotte. It doesn't end with death, it's all a continual thing."

Charlotte bit her lip. "So you agree then. He's dead."

Opal glanced down. "Yes, I think maybe he is. I've thought for awhile maybe someone was."

Charlotte's brow furrowed. "Opal, have you… did you… see something? At work?"

Opal shook her head. "I haven't seen anything, per se. But I've felt something permeating the air at the studio lately. A sort of old, lingering sorrow. Since I'm sensitive to things like that even in the living, I really didn't know for sure what I was sensing. But now that I know this, Lotte, now that I actually hear what happened there at Disney that derailed a young man's life…" she lifted a hand to move a wisp of black hair out of her face. "It all makes sense."

"Did you know Bobby?" Charlotte could practically hear the longing in her own voice. "Did you ever meet him?"

"Oh no, I wasn't anywhere near Disney Studios when I was a girl. I saw him, yes. On the movies, on television… heard him on the radio. Do you know, every single week, my mother would sit us down and we would listen to Family Theater?" Opal smiled, wistfully. "He voice acted for a few of those episodes, even hosted one."

"I bet it's hard to believe," Charlotte rotated her Coke bottle to stare absently at the label. "The very idea that I was ever that close to someone so important. Or that I dared to... um..." she stammered, trying to find the right word.

"That you dared to loved him."

Charlotte's throat tightened. Hearing someone else finally say it, acknowledge what Bobby had meant to her, felt so validating.

"You did, didn't you? Love him?"

She nodded. "I think I did. It was a young, idealistic love at first, but… but I truly cared for him. In a lasting kind of way, and now that..."

The word fell away as Charlotte felt her eyes welling again. How on earth could anyone cry as much as she'd cried in the last two days?

Opal squeezed her hand.

"He was the only man I've ever been with, and not just for a few hours at the party. I mean... intimately. One night was all, but..." The words fell from Charlotte's mouth before she could stop them, but she knew they would be safe with Opal. A blush tinted her cheeks as she filled in the space she'd earlier left out of the story. "It was after we'd had the conversation at the hotel that night, the last time I ever saw him. He was already divorced, and I knew it was a foolish decision, but it just... happened. And believe me, I regret it sometimes, because it just gave me yet another taste of what I couldn't ever have with Bobby in a lasting way. It wouldn't have felt right to let it turn into a full-fledge romance, with his having the family I'd always wanted him to go back to. But being in his arms, for just that little while, it was…"

"Probably a little heady, huh?" Opal tilted her head, and Charlotte nodded.

"No one knows," she added quickly. "No one else, anyway."

"Lotte… it's alright," Opal reassured. "I always believe that's the very reason a girl should wait for marriage, but it's an easy thing to slip up with."

"I agree," Charlotte pinched the bridge of her nose with her other hand, closing her eyes and feeling odd about talking about something so intimate. "Because then you're free. You have that other person, you don't have to worry about becoming even more attached to them only to lose them the next morning."

Opal's smile returned. "That may be true. But there's no denying it, Lotte, you gave so much to this man. It's little wonder your heart is in shreds over this, and it's starting to be little wonder either that Bobby came back to Disney after whatever has happened to him, and immediately found you."

Charlotte peered at her curiously.

Opal took a deep breath, letting go of Charlotte's hand and gazing out the window. "I believe that sometimes, on our way out of this life, the human spirit gets confused. It may take time, especially if a person died young, to register exactly what happened. They may not realize it, but they drift back, often, to a place where they felt there was unfinished business to take care of. And… sometimes, I don't think they even know what that business is. They may not know at first where they are, or why they're there. My grandmother used to tell me that. And it sounds, by all accounts, like Bobby came back to Disney for reasons we can both fully imagine. Then, there you were. His trusty Charlotte, the first person his spirit might have seen after dying, and in that place he felt pulled back to."

Charlotte thought for a moment. "That makes some sense as far as Bobby's spirit goes, but what about the party I keep hearing going on behind that door?"

"Ah. That's a little more complicated, but here's what I tend to think: if Bobby's spirit wandered back to Disney and met up with you… then he unwittingly might have recreated the night of the party, by the strength of his soul's very presence. That night could have been when he first realized how much you cared about him."

Charlotte must have looked confused, because Opal paused only a moment before pushing on. "You said you were terrified of parties, and Bobby knew that; yet you showed up on that night just to talk to him. In his young mind, he surely realized that that counted for something. Who knows, maybe that night was one of the best memories he had at the studio? So… his presence there, at Disney, is creating something of a loop."

"A loop." Charlotte leaned forward. "Is it a loop I can enter into? Because if I could undo anything in the world, Opal, it would be that I went through that night so lost in my own romantic head that I never even did what I went there for and told him about Disney's plans."

Opal stopped, staring at Charlotte for a moment. "You mean you want to go into a sort of time warp?"

"Is it possible?" Charlotte shrugged, taking another sip of her Coke. "There were real lights on the other side of that door. Real music playing, I heard it. And the voices."

"Well… it depends how strong the memory is. The strength of the human spirit is one of the strongest forces on earth, and it could possibly be that Bobby's memory of that night and the turmoil of his soul are blending together to create a world you could step into. But Lotte, I don't advise it. The spirit world isn't a thing the living were meant to dabble in."

Charlotte shook her head. "But Bobby obviously wants me to. Or he wants… something to happen, something to change to give him peace. Who's to say he does drugs, runs off to New York, DIES for heaven's sake, if I could change one little thing? If he knew Disney was going to fire him, he could have prepared himself and started looking for other work. He could have worked harder to keep his job. He could have somehow done something to make the whole experience that much less traumatic. Don't you see?"

"Sure I see, Charlotte, but that isn't the point," Opal's face darkened. "It's more the fact that humans are not supposed to interrupt time or change it in any way. And besides. What if you can't actually enter into this illusion? It may be something you can only watch and be an outsider to. In all likelihood, it _is_."

"Here's a question for you, Opal. How could it get any worse?" Charlotte downed the rest of her Coke in one, determined gulp.

"And here's another question," Opal took the empty bottle from her and tossed it in the trash. "Have you tried asking Bobby what he wants? Maybe changing the past has nothing to do with it."

Charlotte sighed. "I don't know how to reach him for something specific. What if you tried it, Opal?"

Opal was still a moment, as though deliberating, but finally shook her head. "Lotte, it's you he obviously wants to communicate with. I think this is going to have to belong to you. Sensitive or not, I'm not you."

The other woman leaned her chin in her hands, watching Charlotte.

But there was nothing left to argue.

* * *

Opal had said to use lots of candles. She'd explained that the warmth and light draws spirits out of the shadows.

That's why, after work the following Monday, Charlotte borrowed every candle around her mother's house that she could find, then went out and bought more on her way back to the studio after hours.

Opal had also told her to attempt this at "witching hour", which was, not surprisingly, midnight. The entire thing felt straight out of a campy dime store ghost story to Charlotte, but she obeyed every instruction.

Lastly, she was supposed to find an item that had either belonged to Bobby or had been in contact with him over a period of time. There was one thing Charlotte could think of that would be small enough to fit neatly in her candle circle, and that would be tucked away in Disney's storage, likely under dust. But it was her best option.

Being sure everyone including Patterson had left for the night, Charlotte took off her heels and went digging in the costume rooms until she finally found what she was after. It was in a vacuum-sealed bag labeled "Peter Pan, '53 – B. Driscoll."

Wondering only briefly how much trouble she might get into for pilfering an old costume piece, she carefully unzipped the bag as though it were glass and took out the _Peter Pan_ hat Bobby had worn years ago. Charlotte brought it back to her work room where she found it nearly impossible to focus on work for the next few hours, but managed to muddle through until about eleven thirty. She could barely hold her eyes open, but she began setting up and lighting the candles on her cleared work table. It took nearly twenty-five minutes to light each one and place it in a perfect circle. She took a deep breath when it was all done, thinking she could have done with about half as many.

After the candles were lit, Charlotte sent a solemn prayer upward that God would send Bobby to the forefront of any other spirits that might be anxious for a push-through. She was far too skittish to think of incorporating a Ouija board into the process, instead opting for the hope that, as Bobby was already on the property, he would be close enough not to have to weed through any other supernatural beings to find his way out.

Finally ready to go with her séance, Charlotte took the _Peter Pan_ hat – the very one she'd helped measure Bobby for – and placed it in the center of the circle. She could think of nothing else to do then but to close her eyes and prepare for whatever happened.

"Bobby."

Charlotte tried to push aside the silliness she felt when nothing but silence answered her.

She tried again. "Bob."

More silence.

Maybe this would take awhile. She decided to sit back in her chair and wait. Once he saw she planned to go nowhere until she got answers from him, he was bound to show up.

After fifteen minutes slowly ticked by, however, she sighed. Perhaps she should have tried this on Hallway C, which had been the latest place she'd encountered anything strange. But there was no way she was loading up all her candles and moving around the building at this point.

"Robert Driscoll, please report to the Séance Information Center for your summons," Charlotte murmured, eyes still closed, before giggling to herself under a fog of exhaustion.

"Alright, time to blow out these candles," she continued, taking comfort in the sound of her own voice. But she made no move to do so, thinking how good it felt to just lean back like this and rest by the warm glow. Then the reminder drifted past that this was exactly what she had been doing the very first time Bobby had come to her – leaning back in her work chair, relaxing. All the more reason to be patient and wait this way. But as the minutes dragged on, Charlotte felt herself giving in to the pricks of sleep starting to nibble away at the edges of her brain.

It was a delicious sensation. Soon, a thick haze descended over her entirely, and she began to doze.

Between the world of asleep and awake, Charlotte took note of a pleasing sound that seemed to be making its way toward her. Her mind moved to meet it. Was it music? No. It was a sound from when she was young, something she remembered being the very essence of comfort...

It was a voice; a soothing, warm voice that wrapped her in a cocoon of sweetness.

What was it saying?

 _Lotte._

She finally made out the word as she reached fully toward the sound.

 _Lotte. Look._

The warm embrace gave way suddenly and Charlotte felt herself hit the ground hard. Only it wasn't ground. It was almost as hard, but in that uncomfortable way of something that was supposed to have been soft, like a bad bed or cot. The noises buzzing in her ears were a cacophony of traffic horns, shouting, and loud talking. Suddenly, the blend was deafening.

She tried to sit up, but something held her back. It was a sharp pain in her chest.

She tried to grab it, to stop it from hurting so much. But just as the pain reached a zenith, it began to fade away, along with the sounds outside the room.

What room…?

 _I was alone in an abandoned apartment when my heart gave out on me._

The beautiful voice echoed in her brain as the sensation of comfort wrapped itself around her once again. But before she could curl back into its softness, she felt it rend in half, slowly, revealing a blinding light.

Charlotte tried to turn her face away, but couldn't.

Instead, someone took hold of her shoulders and pulled her close. Through the light, she could discern features - Bobby's.

 _Lotte. Listen to me. I need you t-_

Suddenly, a blast like a foghorn assaulted her eardrums.

"What?" her lips tried to form the word as the deafening noise continued.

She could no longer hear him, or read the words that fell from his lips.

The sharp, loud blasts continued intermittently, and Charlotte's stomach began to pitch as though they were on a boat. Her nostrils filled with the scent of stagnant water and death.

It was stifling.

… _Children… the kids…_

If she kept her eyes on Bobby, she could make out phrases every so often.

… _Mom, Dad. And I need…_

The foghorn blasted again.

"Bobby, I don't understand, what do you want me to do?" Charlotte reached out to touch his face, hoping that to hold onto him would equalize the chaos going on around them.

Somehow, it did. The nauseating scents and sensations went away, and the foghorn quieted. She and Bobby were now together in sublime comfort.

 _-I love them. And I love you too._

Charlotte reached down to make a grab for Bobby's hands. If she didn't let him go, then he simply couldn't be pulled away again. Right?

But her grip was snapped loose when he was suddenly yanked backwards.

"BOB-!"

She hit the ground again, this time real ground. Breathing heavily, Charlotte sat up from where she'd fallen onto her work room floor and stared around her, heart pounding as the familiar surroundings came back into focus.

She scanned the entire room before looking down beside her.

A single candle illuminated a small circle of the floor. Charlotte placed her hand inside it, staring at its shape, and feeling the warmth of the wooden floorboards beneath her skin.

He had come.

* * *

Charlotte soon drifted to sleep again beside the candle, her hand still resting in the patch of light. When she woke up a few hours later, she was filled with determination.

"It's okay, Bobby," she whispered as soon as her eyes opened, sitting up. "I don't have to tell your kids anything, or your parents, because guess what?"

She blew out the candle and pushed up from the floor. "You're not going to die."

Fumbling around in the dark until she managed to turn on her work table lamp, Charlotte continued. "You're not going to die because I can go back and I can fix this. Wait and see if I don't. All I need you to do is to keep remembering that party. Keep the portal open. I'll find my way inside, and back to you."

Charlotte began gathering the mass of half-melted candles and tossing them in the garbage can. "If I go back and fix what I messed up, you won't get fired. Maybe. Or if you do, you'll be okay because you would have been prepared. Then you'll go on acting, and you won't need all your drugs… which is what wrecked your heart, I"m sure of it..."

Picking up the wastebasket, she headed out of her work room toward the large garbage bin in the corner of the sewing room and continued talking. "… And maybe you'll grow up to marry me. But even if you don't, that's okay. You'll at least, and not leave your kids behind, and you'll live happily ever after. You'll die…" she paused to climb up on the stool kept beside the bin, upturning her wastebasket into it and listening to the candles clang against the metal inside. "...an old man in your bed, just the way you were supposed to. So until then…"

Charlotte stepped back down off the stool and set the trash can down, dusting her hands off triumphantly. "… Just leave the rest to me."

Driving home a few minutes later, Charlotte felt a sense of fierce purpose burning in her chest. She would enter the party loop. She would go back there, never mind whether or not she could ever get back out. Bobby needed this from her – she would go back and change the past, even if she had to say goodbye to the life she knew now forever.

Even if she had to arrive back in 1953 as an adult and had to convince him of why he should listen to her.

Or even if she arrived as a fourteen-year-old again, and after setting things straight, would be forced to relive the past fifteen years all over.

No price was too much to pay for this.

* * *

"Charlotte, no. No way."

Opal stood with her hands on her hips in the doorway of Charlotte's work room.

Charlotte stood quickly and came over to tug Opal into the room before closing the door so no one else could hear them.

"This is insane. Do you hear yourself? I won't be a part of you thinking you can change time." Opal threw her hands in the air. "If you even can."

Charlotte turned to face Opal, squaring off with her. "There is a party that happens almost every night on Hallway C. I can feel the vibration of the music, I can see the light coming from underneath the door. If… if it's like you say and Bobby's spirit is sending off a memory so strong it's causing a rift in time here at Disney that can somehow manage to cater to my five senses, then I can climb in there. I can try it."

Opal reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose, her pretty face distorted by frustration. "This can't be happening. Here, at Disney, in… the real world, not some storybook," she mused quietly.

"I thought you believed in this sort of thing, Opal." Charlotte crossed her arms.

"I do! I've seen spirits before, I've told you that. But this... entering a memory..." she trailed off, shaking her head. "I don't even know how it all works. What I told you the other day was just my theory, one Grandma passed down. And besides, didn't Bobby tell you what he wanted? He wanted you to be sure his family was okay and that they knew he loved them. He showed you how he died, and what he wanted. He even told you what you needed to hear the very most."

Charlotte glanced away, still rocked to the core by Bobby's sweet and earnest declaration.

Opal paused, as though sensing the reverence of the moment, before continuing on in a softer voice. "That's all that can be done for Bobby now. Respect his last wishes, and Lotte, love him. You can always love him with all your heart. Part of him will stay with you somehow, in some way. But help him move on. You've got to accept that that's all you can do, and let him go."

Charlotte shook her head stubbornly. "I'm doing this with or without your help, Opal. But with it, it might make less of a mess."

Opal gave a last, exasperated sigh. "Where on earth do you get your pig-headedness from?"

"Probably my mother," Charlotte muttered ruefully, then turned back around to face Opal. "Maybe you're right. And truthfully, who's to say Bobby didn't move on after making contact with me last night? I haven't heard anything from him since then. If we try this, and if the party has disappeared… then it probably means I can't do anything more. But if I go down that hallway and if it's still there, I'm opening that door to see what I'll find."

Opal was quiet for a moment, then finally let her arms drop in resignation. "What do you need me to do? You know I'm not going to let you do this by yourself."

"I just need you to wait outside the door. That's all. Make sure I come back out, or if I don't, you can at least know what happened to me. Or if I come out with my wits scrambled, you can help me keep the facts straight. That's all, Opal. Just please be there." Charlotte regarded her friend with pleading eyes. "Think about it. If this were your husband…" Charlotte drifted off with the thought, before quickly completing it. "And I know we didn't get married, so just humor me here. You're a wife. What would you want if you had been married to him ?"

Opal looked on as Charlotte explained her thoughts.

"I might not have been family, but he came to me for whatever reason, and I've got to represent everyone who loved him here. If I could go back, if I could just tell him—"

"Alright, Lotte. Okay. I understand why you're not ready to let this go yet. So... I'll do this with you." Opal took a deep breath. "I'll stand outside that door. But in return, you've got to do something for me."

"What?" Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief. "Anything."

"Promise you'll meet Arthur."

"Oh, you!" Charlotte growled and picked up the throw pillow on the loveseat to toss at Opal.

Opal caught it, giving a wry smile. "I mean it, Charlotte. You need someone to love you, someone who's… who's here," she finished delicately. "You know how much Bobby would want that."

"Fine. I'll meet Arthur. If I ever come back from 1953," she shook her head.

"Alright. Then that's the only excuse you'll have for not doing it."

* * *

The very idea of the bizarre thing Charlotte was about to embark on chilled her to the bone as she stood in front of her mirror that night, waiting on Opal to pick her up. She wasn't sure what she was looking for in the glass, but she guessed it must be sanity.

Her life had been tumultuous in some ways, but ordinary in most others. Was all this real? Was she really about to do something this crazy? Or had the last couple months been just one big dream?

Charlotte raked her hands through her hair, crumbling down her perfectly coiffed style in favor of her plain, wavy tresses. She wanted to be comfortable tonight above all; besides, it might be alarming to the Bobby of 1953 for her to look so distractingly futuristic. So she combed her deconstructed hair into a low ponytail before changing into a much simpler shift.

"Where are you going?" her mother inquired from the doorway to her room.

Charlotte jumped, almost yielding bad results for the fresh coat of lipstick she was applying. "Just back to work for awhile, Mom," Charlotte answered. "Opal and I are going to dinner, and then heading in to finish up some things we need for the movie the studio's going to start shooting next week. So I'll be home late."

"Again," her mother sighed, coming fully into the room. "Look at your hair. It has the perfect texture, like I wish mine did."

Charlotte looked over, noting that her mother was actually sober tonight. "You have your own pretty hair, Mom."

"No, not like yours." Her mother reached out tentatively to touch Charlotte's long ponytail. "I know you don't like to be touched, but let me run my fingers through it, just once."

Guilt anew washed over Charlotte as she realized how telling it was that she could barely abide her mother's contact, yet she was more comfortable with touch than she was with words when it came to almost everyone else.

Did she have anything left to give her mother at all?

She could give her this, and so she stood still, letting her mother smooth her hair as the older woman smiled. "You know, when you were a baby, I told my sisters I hoped your hair would turn out to be the color of Judy Garland's - and what do you know? It is! Just shinier."

Suddenly Charlotte was hit by the deja vu of being a little girl on her bed, her mother stroking through her hair the exact same way before brushing it - one hundred strokes every night. How Charlotte had idolized her mother back then, before she'd met hard liquor and became someone else.

"Do… I need to stop by the store? Bring anything home for you…?" It was only a little, but it was all the affection she could muster at present.

"No…" her mother's hand fell finally, as she turned back toward the door. "Nothing. Be careful, I'll see you in the morning."

Charlotte stood staring at herself in the mirror a moment longer as her mother left the room. Who knew if she would ever seen her mom again if this crazy plan went awry? The thought was oddly jarring. But she quickly shook it off and went to pick up her purse.

* * *

Opal pushed open the door for them as they slipped into the studio around the time closest to when Charlotte had been to Hallway C before.

"Just remember, during your little time warp escapade," Opal cautioned as they tiptoed down the hall, "NOT to do anything that will indirectly keep me from meeting Howard or from our kids being born. If you do, I'll never forgive you."

"If I do, would you even know any better?" Charlotte chuckled. She and Opal had been making almost gallows humor with one other the entire drive to the studio. What they were about to embark upon was hard to have sensible conversation about.

That's when they heard it.

Teresa Brewer.

Charlotte could practically see the hair rising on her friend's arms. Opal looked over at her.

"The party's still here. And that means Bobby's still here." Charlotte turned to stare down the hall, balling her fists with determination. "I've got to do this.

"L-Lotte, wait." Opal rushed to catch up to her. "I'll be outside this door, and I expect you to keep it open. So I can see what's happening."

Lotte nodded. "I can do that much." She stopped just outside the door from whence the music flowed freely, and she could once again hear the same loop of voices she heard last time…

" _Dean, get me one too!"_

" _What's the idea?! My hands are full!"_

" _Aww, can't even find a way to carry three Coke bottles…"_

Charlotte straightened her back, reaching for the doorknob. "All right. I'm ready."


	7. And Going Away Means Forgetting

When Charlotte stepped back out onto Hallway C, she had to place a hand against the wall.

 _What happened?_

She must have fallen asleep. The last thing she remembered was walking into the party, which she'd seen clearly as she'd opened the door to the room. But somehow…

How had she fallen asleep before she even got into the room?

She first looked at Opal who was leaning against the hallway wall, white-faced. Then she turned back around and looked through the door she'd just come out.

The party was winding down, but still very much in swing. The music had slowed in tempo, but people were still dancing, and there – across the room – she could see the very girls she'd made so jealous on that night, along with a cluster of Bobby's friends.

But where was Bobby?

Could no one see her standing there, looking in the door?

"Lotte…"

Charlotte turned around to regard at Opal. "What happened…? I went in there, didn't I? Why don't I remember anything else?"

Opal swallowed, pushing herself up shakily from where she was leaning against the wall. "You did go in."

"And?" Charlotte was impatient. "What happened?"

Opal shook her head slowly. "Nothing."

"What do you mean, nothing?"

"You walked into the room there…" Opal gestured. "And you… started talking to yourself. You walked over to that corner, and asked… someone to dance with you. And I stood here and watched you dance by yourself, only you… _were_ with someone. It was someone I couldn't see. But you were almost acting younger, as though you _did_ go back in time to fourteen."

Charlotte turned to stare back into the room again. "Opal, there is a party going on in there, right in front of us. Don't you see anyone else? There's Mr. Disney, over in the corner—"

"No, Lotte. I don't see anything or anybody. It's an empty room to me. The minute you opened the door, all the sounds we heard from the hallway just stopped. But you went on in, as though you still heard them, still saw things as they might have been back then. Because I think… you _were_ back then. You went back," Opal began to chuckle nervously. "… You went back!"

Charlotte could only stare dumbly at the party she could still see from across the threshold. "But Opal, I don't remember any of…" she trailed off.

But wait. She _did_ remember.

Suddenly, what felt like a very recent dream, a repeat of the party she'd attended years ago, tugged at her memory. When she had supposedly "fallen asleep," she must have walked, as though in a dream, through the party she once attended – only it hadn't been a dream, had it?

She'd gone there all over again.

"You can't be serious," she murmured, staring at the people dancing and mingling. "But... if I went back and only did the very same things I did then, how could I have changed anything?"

Opal shook her head once more. "I don't know. So… you really don't remember being in there?"

"No, I don't!" Charlotte turned back around, throwing her hands up in frustration. "It's as though I had a dream about it, but it was the very same thing that actually happened! I was following the script from before. And you say you saw me interacting with people, but you couldn't see them?"

"I couldn't," Opal rubbed her forehead. "Only, if everything went exactly like you say it did before, it must mean everyone in that party saw you."

"Where's Bobby?" Charlotte instinctively took a step back toward the party, stopping herself just before she crossed the threshold. A thought hit her.

"Wait, he's… he went outside, around ten o'clock, to walk me to my car. I remember them playing this song when we went out…! This whole thing is running parallel to—Opal, what time is it?"

Opal glanced at her watch. "Um, 10:03."

"Then he should be coming b—"

Charlotte suddenly staggered backward, holding onto the wall as, just in front of her and as though he'd walked right through her, Bobby appeared on the other side of the door in the room again. He walked toward his buddies. She could tell it was him, even though she couldn't see his face. She knew his walk, knew the way he'd coiffed his hair that night. She would remember it forever.

"Where were you?" she heard his friend Dean asking. "Were you really out there with the costume measuring girl all night?"

"Mm hmm." Bobby reached to take up another Coke from a passing tray.

Charlotte couldn't believe what she was seeing. She stared at Bobby's profile as he turned, and was completely unable to stop smiling.

There he was. There was Bobby, as he had been on that best-of-nights, before the drugs, before her move to North Carolina, before his life took a nosedive.

"She has a name, remember? Charlotte. It's pretty _. She's_ pretty, don't you think? And she really knows how to sew up a dress," Bobby continued to Dean.

Hot tears spilled down Charlotte's cheeks and a chuckle escaped her. She stared at the scene unfolding before her eyes.

Dean shrugged. "Got nice green eyes, I'll hand her that. She gonna be your next girl?"

"Yup! Maybe…" Charlotte watched as Bobby took another hearty swig of his Coke. "Or… I don't know, maybe later on she will be. She's a good friend, and you know how things get tricky with girls when they turn from friends into steadies."

Charlotte leaned her cheek against the door post, thinking she may stay here until the party on the other side of time wrapped up. She could watch Bobby. Then come back tomorrow night, and the next. He could stay alive forever this way.

"Lotte?"

She started as she felt a gentle hand on her arm, and turned around to face Opal. Her friend stood watching her, wearing a smile that reflected her own. "I wish I could see what you see right now. Because I've never seen you look so happy. Or so alive."

Charlotte returned Opal's smile, then looked back toward the party at Bobby. "He was magical that night. The whole thing was magical. I'll never forget it…"

"And you don't have to," she heard Opal continue as she watched Bobby playfully clink his Coke bottle against Dean's. "But Lotte… you do know it isn't real. Not anymore."

Charlotte's brow furrowed as she continued to watch Bobby.

"The fact that you did go in there like you wanted to, but couldn't change anything… that shows that all it is, really is a good memory. For both you and Bobby."

But Charlotte's mind was already working furiously. "I had gone home by this point," she murmured. "So… who's to say what would have happened had I been there after ten? That means if I try again now, if I go back in there after I was supposed to have already left, I can't just follow an old script. It'll all be brand new. Opal, that's it! That's what I have to do!"

"Lotte, wait—"

But before she could be stopped, Lotte stepped back over the threshold into the party. Smiling triumphantly, she looked around. This time, she knew exactly what was going on around her.

Yes! This was it, this would work this time! Looking back out the door where she knew Opal waited for her in another time, she gave a discreet thumbs-up before turning to hurry across the room toward Bobby.

"Bobby!" she called out before reaching him. She could only assume, only hope, he would turn and see her now as she had been when they were young. "Bobby, I forgot to tell you one more thing. Can we go talk…..?"

But the words died on her lips. Bobby was completely ignoring her, still wrapped up in his banter with Dean.

Charlotte came up closer beside him. "Bobby? I know you walked me out to the car, but I came back. I have something else I need to talk to you about."

But Bobby continued on talking as though she wasn't there.

Charlotte turned to Dean then. "Can you hear me? Can't anyone hear me?"

Dean took another sip of Coke, oblivious.

She looked around, began wandering back through the room, stopping periodically next to people. "Hi, I'm… can you hear me…? If you can, please turn around so I can… hello…?"

But no one paid her any attention. Heart pounding, Charlotte turned back to Bobby, who was laughing at something one of his companions was saying.

It wasn't working.

She headed back toward the door, stepping across the threshold once more into the hallway, feeling a wave of something akin to motion sickness.

Opal came over and gently took her shoulders in support, turning her to face her. "What happened? They couldn't see you, could they…?"

Charlotte shook her head, stunned. "No… they couldn't. But how does that even make sense? I was just in there with all of them, a few minutes before…"

"You were following the script of your youth though, Lotte," Opal reasoned patiently. "In reality, you never came back into the building after ten o'clock. So… there's no room for you to do that in Bobby's memory."

Of course. This entire thing is based on Bobby's memory, isn't it? So in order to change anything, she would have to effectively find a way to change Bobby's memory. And she couldn't do that if she couldn't change time.

"Lotte, I don't think you're going to be able to do what you want to do. We've tried, and it doesn't work. Let's let it go." Opal gave her shoulders a slight squeeze.

But Charlotte shook her head. "The first time, earlier… when I tried to go in, it was like I fell asleep. I moved through it like I was in a dream, responding to the same cues I had responded to years ago. But Opal, what if I changed that? What if I managed to keep enough presence of mind, even in a sleep-like state, to break the script? It's proven that I _can_ enter Bobby's memory again in this way. If I could jar myself out of the trance…"

Opal's eyes were kind as they stared into hers, but they also reflected a truth that was hard to ignore.

It had been attempted, and it hadn't been done.

This was a memory, all a beautiful memory, that Bobby had stored away in his heart. It was as Opal said – now that his spirit was lingering here again, he was remembering that moment so long ago when he and Charlotte had both felt free to defy expectation and just move with their hearts.

But it was over, and all that was left for Charlotte to do was to let go of it to set about doing what Bobby actually wanted her to do – look out for his family.

But how? Was she supposed to let them know he had died? How would she even go about that without explaining how she had been told, essentially, by a ghost?

Charlotte pulled away from Opal, bringing her hands up to rub her temples. "I… I don't know what to do."

"I know, this is… this is odd, Lotte. It has to be so—"

"Selfish of him?" Charlotte turned back around to face Opal. "How dare he do this to me? Come back here and want me to do something, yet give me no idea how to. And here he is taunting me with this memory, the memory of when I messed it all up – yet give me no way to go back and change it. He knows, I bet that's it. Now that he's dead, he knows I didn't come to him and tell him about Disney before it was too late, and he's haunting me just to make me pay."

The words spilling out of Charlotte's mouth were paranoid lunacy, and she knew it.

"Charlotte, calm down." Opal looked around. "Let's just go somewhere and talk. A lot has happened tonight, and it's getting late. The last thing we want is for the security patrol to find us here and wonder what we're doing." She came over and took Charlotte's arm.

Charlotte allowed herself to be lead out to the parking lot, shaking her head in frustration. "I don't think the man had even the slightest idea how much he meant to me. He couldn't have, and still put me through what he's put me through these last few weeks. And for what?" she walked hastily alongside Opal under the night sky. "For him to still be dead. I can look out after his family all I want, but he'll _still_ be _dead_ , Opal. Tell me how that helps them?"

"Maybe it doesn't," Opal lead Charlotte to the passenger side of the car and opened the door, practically tucking her in. "Maybe it's all really for him. After he knows you'll help him fulfill a last wish, he'll be able to move on."

 _Move on._

Charlotte stopped talking, looking off across the parking lot, hit anew by a thought.

For years, over and over again, she had considered herself to be "moving on" from Bobby, only for him to wind up back in her life in some way or other. But this would be the last time either of them would be "moving on," because after this, she would simply never see him again.

Just when she thought she'd grieved Bobby as fully as she could, she was hit with the force of more.

In that uncanny way Opal had of seeming to know just what Charlotte was thinking, she got into the driver's side and immediately said, "Charlotte, I truly hate to be the one to tell you this, but you do realize…" she opened her purse to take out her lipstick case, but then seemed to think better of it, putting it back down and turning to Charlotte. "You do realize, this isn't the end of this for you."

Charlotte rested her head on her arm, leaning partially out the open window, stricken.

"You're probably going to grieve for a long time over this. Bobby meant something to you that no other man has, and if you think you can cut the pain short by crossing something off a list, you're wrong. And it makes me so sad for you to have to say it."

Charlotte lifted her head and turned slowly to regard Opal, blinking in bewilderment. "So you reminded me of this why, exactly? Because you mean to watch me crush under the weight of that much more?"

Opal was quiet a moment, then she gave a little shrug, looking down. "No, what I think I'm trying to say, Lotte, is that no matter what you do or how you try to handle it, this is going to be hard – maybe the hardest thing you've ever done, as bad as you've already had it in your life, and you're not going to be able to do it alone."

"Of course I can," Charlotte snapped. "It's how I've had to do just about everything, so why would this be any different? I'm good at alone."

"Yes. You are." Opal looked back up, studying Charlotte's eyes. "You've proven to the world that you have no problem handling life by yourself. So it's time to get good at something else – at asking for help. At letting someone be your friend."

Charlotte sighed, emotionally exhausted. "Opal, you are my friend. Clearly. I've told you everything about Bobby and me, things I haven't told anybody. You're here with me tonight, aren't you? Would I have asked just anyone to do something this crazy with me?"

"Lotte… no. I don't mean finding someone when you absolutely have to have them. That's the only reason you came to me, right? You were desperate?" Opal gave a little smile.

Charlotte felt on the spot suddenly, and began to crack her knuckles to relieve the mounting anxiety.

Opal hesitated. "That doesn't mean you're ready to punch me, does it?"

Charlotte let out a laugh. "No, cracking my knuckles doesn't mean I'm ready to fight! It means I know you're right and I don't know what to do about it. Yes, okay? The only friends I've ever had in my life were Bobby, then a couple of girls I grew up in North Carolina with. But I didn't talk about serious things with Joanna and Hazel, not really. We just had fun. And you?... I definitely came to only because I was desperate. So there, you have it."

Opal's smile broadened triumphantly.

"I just don't know what else you want, Opal," Charlotte cast suspicious eyes to the slender, chic woman who had ventured into her life on a whole new level just a handful of days ago. "Yes, I came to you when I was desperate, but isn't that a good thing?"

"Yes. It's a good start," Opal replied, tapping her chin in thoughtfulness. "But how about this? Next, we go to the picture show when I can get a babysitter. Or take lunch break together one day. Think you could handle that?"

Charlotte hesitated.

"See what I mean now? You need to learn to live your life with people. In the small ways. And Charlotte, I am offering to be one of those people for you. I want to be. Bobby had wanted to be, and you had let him, at least as far as you were able to before you moved away as a kid. You pulled on him in the desperate moments, and also in the good ones. Don't you think he'd want you to do that again with a friend? And maybe later, another type of person?" Opal cranked the car. "The things you have to offer, and that people have to offer you, are profound."

"'Profound', huh?" Charlotte could only manage to tease after the probing words Opal had just delivered. "That doesn't sound like a sewing pool word. I'm impressed, Opal. A sweet little housewife with such brawn and depth. I've learned a lot about you."

"Yes, well," Opal turned her eyes back to Charlotte for a moment before backing the car up. "That's what having a friend does. It teaches you things."

Charlotte sighed, "Touche."

* * *

Of course, after that night, Charlotte couldn't be satisfied keeping away from Hallway C.

Two more weeks went by, and nearly every single night found her driving her Corvaire back into the parking lot at Disney at the allotted time, walking down the haunted hallway, and re-entering the party from long ago. Each time resulted in the same thing – a certain removal of her consciousness as soon as she stepped into the door, followed by a full re-creation of the past events. She and Bobby always danced, always moved to the courtyard, always kissed, always came in and had cake, and he always walked her out of the room at 10pm upon which time she would "wake up," finding herself standing alone outside the banquet hall door as if he'd left her there. If she stood around and watched long enough, Bobby would re-enter the party after having presumably walked her to Aunt Lila's car, and he would begin having the same conversation with friends that he'd had before.

Any time Charlotte tried to enter after the allotted point in time, she was completely invisible to everyone there. Any attempts to move objects in the room to find a way a way to communicate with Bobby never amounted to success either, as her hands seemed to go right through things.

It was all an exercise in futility and frustration. Night after night, Charlotte would try again and again to figure out how to keep herself alert enough once she entered the room in Hallway C to try to break the script during the time she was able to interact with Bobby. But night after night, it came to nothing. She would then go home and toss and turn all night, wringing her brain's resources to the last drop to figure out how to—

"MAKE IT WORK!" she cried out one morning after such a night, jarring herself out of a fitful sleep.

She could barely focus during the day in her sewing room, and it was becoming noticeable.

"Charlotte, are you still worrying over… the thing on Hallway C?" Opal asked her at one point, on lunch break.

"No, no," she shook her head, unwilling to admit even to Opal her evening excursions. "I'm moving on. You were right, Opal, I have to." She busied herself with the salt shaker.

She hated telling her new friend a lie, but at this point, what she had to do was between her and Bobby, and even he wouldn't be able to stop her if he tried. But Bobby's spirit remained silent, and for the most part, Charlotte was glad. If she could ever figure out how to accomplish breaking the old script they still followed at the party, there might not be a spirit to contend with at all. Instead, she might once again find a flesh-and-blood man standing in front of her one day, preserved from an adulthood of devastation, reaching out his hand.

One afternoon around three or four, so exhausted she could barely keep her eyes open, Charlotte lay her head down against the cool iron of her sewing machine to doze. She was sure she could keep working, if only she could sleep for just a few minutes…

It turned out to be hours later that she was shaken awake. At first she was disoriented, but soon realized the shooting pain down her jaw. Lifting her gravel-filled head, she looked up to see Patterson standing there.

"Miss Leyton? You've been asleep for awhile now. I didn't want to disturb you," his kind eyes shone with concern, "but… doesn't seem right for a person to have to sleep that way all night."

"All night?" Charlotte turned to look at the big black clock on the wall. "Oh, God, I can't even believe it." She rubbed her eyes, then looked again at it. The time read 7:47pm.

"I'll be leaving soon, and I wouldn't leave you here by yourself anyway." He shifted in his shy, awkward way, but kept his eyes trained on hers.

Suddenly, she tilted her head, regarding Patterson.

"How late do you work in here, Patterson? Some nights I come and can't find you at all."

Patterson slid his hands in his pockets as though trying to dig for the answer. "I try to leave about seven, but sometimes things need doing, and I stay a little later."

"And you never hear anything weird, see anything odd on these old halls…?"

The maintenance man gave a slight shrug. "I think being in a building alone at night always puts a person's imagination into overdrive, Miss Leyton. Sure, sometimes I hear things, see things. But I never feel like they're real." He regarded her more closely. "Is… that what you've been thinking's going on here? Why you seem on edge ever since the night when that man found his way in?"

Charlotte shook her head. "No, of course not. I've just been under a lot of stress is all." She took a deep breath and pushed up from her sewing machine, feeling cramped. "But I do plan to be here late again. So if it's all the same to you, I'm just going to lie here on my couch for awhile, get rested a little more... then start sewing again."

She couldn't believe her good fortune of having been in the building late so many nights, and thankfully having not run into Patterson.

The maintenance man hesitated a moment, acting as though he wanted to speak.

"What is it?" Charlotte asked as she went over to curl up on her loveseat, thankful for the chance to rest more before time to head to Hallway C.

"I think you work too hard, Miss Leyton, if I might say so. You work way too hard, and… it'd make me happy to see you leave on time just once. And to know you're maybe going out somewhere, to have fun."

Charlotte paused, looking back at Patterson and feeling a certain amount of guilt.

Had he always been this caring, this supportive behind the scenes? Patterson, the bear of a man with unruly curls and the heavy-lidded, warm eyes that seemed to constantly shine with good-humor? The man she had, once or twice, made a comment to the other girls about being dull-witted?

Why had she ever thought that? Patterson observed far more than he let on.

"Patterson, you shouldn't worry about me," she replied with sincerity. "You work hard, too. What do you do when you leave here?"

"Oh, different things," he replied with a shrug. "Sometimes I go have a beer with my buddies. Sometimes I go to visit my grandpa to play chess."

"You and your grandpa play chess?" Charlotte couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. "How adorable is that..."

Patterson flushed. "It's… something he taught me when I was a kid. Since then, we have a weekly date. It's getting a little harder for him to hold his hand steady, so I try to let him win as often as I can." He chuckled. "But he's usually onto me for that."

Charlotte smiled, watching him for a moment. It amazed her how much could lie underneath the surface of a person. Most people thought Patterson was "slow." Most people thought Bobby had had everything. Most people thought she, Charlotte Leyton, was an impenetrable force.

They were all wrong.

"I think that's real great, Patterson. I never learned how to play chess, myself."

"You haven't? Well, I'd like to maybe teach you sometime. If… you'd like to learn, Miss Leyton," Patterson shuffled, but peered up at her as he spoke.

Charlotte leaned against her arm to face him better. "You're always very respectful to us ladies, Patterson, but you can call me Charlotte… or Lotte. And… maybe one day that'll happen. For now, I've just got a lot I'm doing. Thank you, though, for the offer."

Patterson ducked his head in response, almost before Charlotte could get the reply out – and almost like he knew the rejection was coming. She felt bad.

"I understand. One day." He turned back to her and smiled. "For now, though, I'm gonna close up shop and head home. Are you sure you're okay here?"

"Perfectly sure. Thanks, Patterson."

After he left, Charlotte let her head drop back onto the couch cushion.

She slept for two hours.

When she awoke, she looked at her watch and jumped up. It was nearly 10pm!

Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, Charlotte made her way briskly to Hallway C, and to the banquet hall door.

The lights were out.

"Drat!" Charlotte smacked the door with her fist and sighed, sinking down against it. It was something she'd noticed – if she came onto Hallway C any later than when she had initially arrived on the night of the party, she was somehow closed out of the action.

Why was this so difficult?

"Bobby, please," she gave a muffled murmur into her hands. "Work with me here."

But there was no answer, no indication that Bobby was anywhere around her. He doubtlessly was somewhere in the building, as his presence was, according to Opal, what was likely causing the residual haunting of the party from 1953. But when he wasn't unwittingly causing that to happen, where did he go?

What did he do? What did any ghost do when he was neither present in the afterlife, or present in reality? It was a question even Opal hadn't been able to answer.

The only things Charlotte knew were that Bobby had died of a heart attack presumably, and that he had been alone. No one seemed to know about it yet, and… as for the last part of the vision he'd shown her? She couldn't figure that part out. Her only hints were a foghorn, the smell of bay water, and the swaying of a boat. Then the scent of death.

Who had found him? What had they done with him?

Her head swam with endless questions, unanswered for yet another night.

There was nothing left to do but go home, think, and try again tomorrow to break into the endless cycle.

* * *

The next morning, Charlotte opened her eyes to see her mother's face staring down at her.

"Wh-what is it, Mom…?" she yawned, trying to turn over.

She was stopped by an envelope shoved in her face. "This."

It took Charlotte a moment to focus her eyes on the thin piece of white paper her mother was dangling. "What is it, who's it from?" she reached out for it.

"Hmph. I have my suspicions, because I'd know that handwriting anywhere." Her mother helped herself and sat on the edge of the bed, as though settling in for a show. "But go on, open it."

Charlotte pushed herself up in bed, disentangling herself from the sheets that wrapped around her like ropes, and looked at the front of the envelope. There was no return address, but her mother was right – the handwriting was telling.

Her heart quickened as she slid a nail under the flap and began to tear. It seemed to take an eternity to shed the envelope and retrieve the slender piece of white memo paper tucked inside. Once she held it, she hesitated.

"Well go on, Charlotte."

She opened the folded piece of paper, keeping her hands from shaking by sheer force of will as she read,

 _Dear Charlotte,_

 _I can't imagine what you look like now – a grown girl, to be sure. I am many years too late in writing this letter, but I want you to know I've never stopped thinking of you. There are so many things I want to say, mostly in apology. I'd give anything I own if you'd allow me the honor of saying them in person. Will you please give me this chance? I know I don't deserve it, but if you can find it in your heart to do so, you can contact me at the number below._

 _Love,  
Dad_

Charlotte crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the corner of the room, rolling back over to go back to sleep.

"Well? Was it him?" her mother pressed.

"See for yourself," Charlotte mumbled, closing her eyes once again.

She heard her mother cross the room and smooth out the piece of paper that was meant to hit the wastebasket. After a few seconds of silence, she let out a snort.

"Well isn't that a fine how-do-you-do after seventeen years! The man's gall never fails to amaze me. You aren't seriously going to give him the satisfaction, are you?" her mother's voice rose an octave.

"Does it look like I am? Just toss it in the trash please, Mother." Charlotte hugged on to her pillow.

"Right where it belongs!" she heard her mother crumple the paper once again and let it drop into the wastebasket. "Idiot man…"

After her mother stalked out, Charlotte lay still for a few minutes, trying to drown out her thoughts and emotions in slumber. When it didn't work, she got up to flip on the radio, letting The Four Tops have a hand at drowning them.

 _Just ask the lonely..._  
 _They know the hurt and pain,_  
 _Of losing a love, you can never regain_

"Wonderful timing," Charlotte groaned, sitting back up to change the station.

That's when the letter in the wastebasket caught her eye again, and her mouth dropped open.

A letter. Yes! Of course!

She hadn't been able to manipulate items in the same room as the party when she'd tried to, but what if she carried an item into the party? What would that do? Something, surely!

Jumping out of bed quickly, Charlotte stumbled over to her desk and took out a pen and a piece of paper, sitting down to write boldly and clearly:

 _Dear Bobby_

She spoke each word as she wrote it, furiously.

 _Don't ask me how I know this, but in a couple weeks from now, Mr. Disney is going to—_

Charlotte paused, thinking how to phrase this. But it was best to be blunt.

 _-fire you because of your acne. Please think about talking to him about this, working extra hard to clear your face, and be looking for other work in the mean time. Don't let this take you down, because you are—_

She stopped again for a moment, then finished, writing slowly and deliberately—

 _-a lot of people's best thing. You are my best thing. And you can overcome this._

 _Lotte_

Charlotte blew the ink and fanned the paper to dry it quickly, then went about searching for an envelope.

This was the absolute perfect solution. If she carried something in her hand into that room from the future, he would have to see it. It would either jar her out of her stupor to remember it was in her hand when she went inside the party, and she would hand it to him directly, or he would ask about it and that would cause her to remember.

She could barely contain herself when she picked up the phone to call Opal.

* * *

"Well… but how do you know it'll be any different?" Opal asked as she rushed down the hallways of the Studio to keep up with Charlotte. "After all, you wear your own clothes into that party every time, and _those_ obviously change on you."

It was a fair point, but Charlotte pushed it from her mind. "We've just got to try it. Something tells me, Opal, this is how it's done. This is the way I can do it."

Charlotte rounded the corner and, without even giving a parting word to Opal, opened the door with the letter in her hand.

* * *

In due time, she came right back out the door at 10pm still clutching the envelope.

Opal stood tapping her foot, looking on tiredly.

Charlotte blinked a few times, then looked at what she held in her hand. It took her a moment to register the failure.

"What?! No!"

She tossed the envelope against the wall where it thudded and slid back to the ground.

"Opal, no way that didn't work! I was holding it in my hand, I…!" she paused to think.

"Do you remember if you still had it while you were in there?"

"Yes! I did! I walked in with it, and…"

But the memory began to resurface, slowly: the letter she'd been holding had melted away like butter when she had taken a few paces into the banquet hall, and her altered mind had been completely apathetic when it had happened.

"This is… this is crazy." Charlotte rubbed the sides of her head, leaving her hair a mess.

"Yes, it is, Lotte. I thought you promised me it was over? That you weren't going to keep doing this?" Opal issued sternly.

Charlotte let out a deep breath. "I just wanted to try a few more things, that's all."

"How long do you plan to keep 'trying a few more things'?" Opal insisted. "If I know you, it's 'as long as it takes,' and I think you spending any more time on it is a mistake. Don't you see what it's doing to you? You come in here bleary-eyed every morning, you're getting barely any of your work done—"

"Oh wait, now wait just a minute on that." Charlotte held up a hand, suddenly feeling her blood boil. "I always get my work done. That will never be a problem. It never has been, it never will be."

"Your To Do pile covers the whole table in your work room, Lotte!" Opal retorted. "That isn't like you."

"And what do you want to bet half of it's things _you_ messed up that I have to fix!" Charlotte shot back angrily. "When you have a troubleshooter seamstress that has to virtually go back and correct everyone else's mistakes from the sewing pool, what does that tell you?"

Opal's mouth dropped open as hurt filled her eyes.

Charlotte began to pace, releasing a full tirade. "Tell me, Opal. How many times do I have to tell people the same things over and over again about stitching? Or seam-ripping? Or reading a simple pattern? Or about the things I decide to spend my energy on in my personal time? Do I have to keep explaining that too?" She paused her pacing and stopped to look pointedly at Opal. "Well? You said you wanted to be my friend, didn't you? Yet when I try to let you in on something that means everything to me, this is the kind of thing I hear from you. Is it any wonder I leave all of you well enough alone?"

Opal stared, but finally found her voice. "You're so stubborn, Charlotte. And you can be so mean! I'm only trying to help you! I hate seeing you do this to yourself again and again! But to fight back against anything I tell you, you're just going to spit out venom? Is that how it's supposed to work?"

Charlotte had stopped pacing, leaning her forehead against the wall to take a deep breath and try to calm down. "If you want to be helpful right now, Opal, then just leave," she murmured.

Opal was quiet for a moment. "I can't leave you, Lotte, you're riding with me."

"Nope." Charlotte straightened up again. "I'm going to stay here and work all night catching up that To Do Pile. Since that's, you know, pretty important and all compared to doing something to save someone's life. You go ahead." She leaned down to pick up the discarded letter to Bobby, then turned and walked past Opal.

But Opal followed, persistent. "Lotte, you can't do that. Come on, let's go home. Tomorrow, you ca—"

"Go home, Opal. Just go." Charlotte continued walking.

Finally, Opal stopped walking behind her. Charlotte felt the other woman's eyes on her back a moment longer, but when she turned around again, Opal was gone.

* * *

Charlotte plopped onto her couch, rubbing her temples.

Dare she admit it? Opal was right. She was barely getting two or three garments fixed per day lately, when she usually averaged six or seven. Besides that, she knew it had been cruel to sidetrack the conversation by slamming the sewing pool. For all the girlish gossiping and finger pointing that went on there, Opal was a part of that group, yet had shown herself to be a true friend. What better example could there be of a friend than the woman who had not only helped Charlotte process the odd things happening to her, but had even accompanied her to try to confront them? On top of that, Opal had dared to speak the truth to Charlotte even though she didn't want to hear it - and sometimes that was the best thing a friend could do.

But leave it to her to drive a good friend away. And why?

"Because I don't know how to do friends," Charlotte suddenly whimpered, bursting into tears.

It was only after sobbing and railing at herself inwardly for almost a half hour that she finally managed to pull it together and stand up, going over to toss Bobby's letter into the wastebasket. It had been the second useless letter of the day.

Then she began to work: seam-ripping, piecing together, sewing her way through her backed-up To Do pile. It was her goal for every last garment in it to be repaired and sent on its way by morning.

And it was.

* * *

The next day passed uneventfully enough. Charlotte was exhausted both emotionally and physically by its end, and she could tell it showed on her even worse than usual. Patterson seemed to stare longer, as did all the ladies in the sewing pool. Opal barely looked at her until she turned her head, but then she could feel the girl's concerned eyes.

By noon, she closed the door to her work room and sank down onto the couch, intent to spend her lunch napping. Practically before her head hit the cushion, she was asleep.

She dreamed of Bobby, of course – and an odd concoction of birthday cupcakes, alligator purses, face products, hot plates, and sleazy motels. At some point, she was back in Aunt June Ann's living room, sitting in front of the big brown radio a few nights before Christmas in 1953.

Oh, this. This was when she got to hear Bobby's voice over the radio when he lent it to Peter Pan again for the Luxe Theater presentation. He'd told her in his Christmas card to be sure to be tuned in for him, and now here she was, listening to his steady intonation with tears rolling down her cheeks because it had felt so wonderful to hear him again, yet it'd hurt so badly at the same time, and wait... now he was saying something. Not to the other actors in the production, but he was speaking to her, through those fuzzy speakers...

 _Lotte, I'm yours forever. But you have to wake up._

Charlotte jolted awake suddenly.

But after a moment, she just curled up tighter on the love seat, knowing what she had to do.

* * *

Tonight would be the last time she visited the time altered Hallway C, and it wouldn't be to change anything.

It would be, instead, to say goodbye to the memory of a late winter's night in 1953; to relive for a final time the evening she'd basked in the warmth of Bobby's undivided affection, when it seemed nothing could possibly taint her happiness. It was the night Bobby had let her into his heart in a way he hadn't before, in a way that had lasted throughout the years.

In a way that would follow her forever.

It was all that could be done now. Opal was right. And after she was done with tonight, she would go check on Marilyn to make sure she and the children were okay. She would wait for the bad news to make its way to them naturally, but she would lay the groundwork for her support before it came.

Close to seven, Charlotte made her way to the hallway and sat against the wall to wait until the party started. To while away the minutes before the right time of her entry, she nervously cleared out her purse, studying each item she pulled out with great concentration. Keeping her hands busy was key right now to not letting her thoughts carry her away from what she had to do – say a last farewell to Bobby. She pulled out an ink pen, finally, and began absently writing on the back of her hand, finding no other paper to use.

She felt like writing the words somewhere, because her lips could barely stand to speak them. And if Bobby was here, wandering these halls tonight, he should see them.

 _Goodbye, Bobby. I loved you too, and I always will._

She was jarred as she put the period in place by the sudden sound of music and the light coming on underneath the banquet hall door.

It was time.

Charlotte stood up, taking a deep breath, and prepared to slip back into the trance of memories, opening the door to be carried away with the flow of time. The blur set in, and it mechanically carried her through the party as usual.

For awhile.

But when she awoke from her trance, instead of finding herself on the other side of the banquet hall door, she found herself staring into Bobby's young eyes.

Charlotte looked away from him for a moment to gaze around her. The stars darted the sky above, and sounds from the party could be heard in the distance. She was outside with Bobby, just as she had been on that night.

Something in the script had broken. Why, in the middle of the party, was she suddenly alert?

Bobby was watching her, a confused expression on his face. Then Charlotte looked down to see that he was lifting her hand up to the luminescence of one of the garden lamps.

"Lotte? Did you hear me? I asked what this means."

In the stark light, she could make out big bold words written on her skin in black ink - the words she had scribbled while she sat in the hallway just a little while earlier.

Charlotte blinked, fully awake as she looked back up at Bobby.


	8. All It Takes Is Faith and Trust

Charlotte looked down again at her hand, on which she'd unwittingly scribbled her key in.

 _Of course! I altered my very skin!_

Thus was her first thought upon measuring her success.

Her second thought was not as much a thought as a gut reaction. She reached out and pulled Bobby to her tightly, wrapping her arms around his waist to lock him into the embrace and laying her head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent as she nestled her face against his neck.

This was enough. Even if she couldn't maintain being alert long enough to say or do anything else, Charlotte felt that this was all she really needed - the chance to hold him again.

"Lotte…?" She felt Bobby's arms go around her shoulders in a warm, if hesitant, embrace. "Can you tell me about what you wrote? C'mon."

For a moment Charlotte could only stand there, her face still buried in his neck. She meant to first collect her emotions, but then she realized how little that mattered. Brazenly, she pulled away to face the freshly sixteen-year-old Bobby again, tears streaming down her cheeks as she kept him close in the circle of her arms.

His eyes widened slightly. "Lotte, no, please don't cry." He gave her cheek a quick kiss, which brushed away a tear. "Just… can you tell me what's going on? I thought we were having a nice night, I thought… you wanted to be with me. But this…" he reached down to lift her hand again to show her the words once again that she had scrawled there.

He leaned in close to read them aloud to her in the moonlight. "'Goodbye, Bobby. I loved you too, and I always will.' Wh-what…" he began to stammer… "does that mean?"

Charlotte swallowed, saying a quick prayer before she tried to improvise. "I… I have something I have to tell you, and I wrote those words on my hand to bring here to this party, tonight, to remind me how much I never want to have to say them to you."

 _It's the truth._

Not that he understood. He tilted his head a bit, brow furrowing.

She took a deep breath. "Okay, listen," she began, pulling her arm away gently so the words she had written there wouldn't be a distraction from those she was about to say. Charlotte was having to consciously train her brain to think of and say things as though they had just happened recently, not years ago, which they had in her mind – which was still twenty-nine years old, not fourteen. The effort was disorienting, and she had to close her eyes. "A few months ago, I was walking down the hall… and I passed one of Mr. Disney's conferences. He was talking to some of his executives about maybe having to…"

She slowed down. Did she dare say the words? They hurt her to the core to remember. "He wants to let you go."

Bobby stared back at her, uncomprehending.

"Fire you, Bob."

He blinked a couple of times, studying her face, as though trying to gauge her seriousness. Then he shook his head. "I… I don't believe you. Lotte, no. Mr. Disney wouldn't do that. Why would he? I've worked hard for him, I've always done exactly what he wanted me to do." Bobby's voice began to thicken as he pulled away from Charlotte, staring at her in disbelief.

She reached out for him again. "I know. You always have. I think it's all because… he… things change, as we get older, and sometimes it doesn't work out so well for us if people have only seen us in one particular light…" Charlotte clamored for delicate words.

"The acne." He kept out of her reach, but still strained his eyes on hers. "It's my face, isn't it? And…" he hesitated, a thought seemingly occurring to him. "That's why you showed up at my house and tried to to help me, wasn't it? With all those face products." Bobby's expression softened.

"Yes. That's why," Charlotte replied gently. "It was a dumb attempt at making it all better, I know."

"Lotte, why didn't you just tell me that was why you were doing it?" Bobby took a couple steps toward her again.

"Because I didn't want to tell you something so cold straight up. Let alone the fact that I wasn't even sure… or rather, I told myself… Mr. Disney really meant it. I hoped it might be something he'd get past. So why get you all worried over nothing? At least that was my logic at the time," Charlotte finished, shaking her head at the memory of her naivety.

"And… maybe you were right," Bobby responded, his tone lightening. " _Peter Pan_ was a huge hit! What more could Uncle Walt ask for? I can give him so much, I can do so much _more_ , even, than what I've already been doing! He knows that."

Charlotte shook her head sadly, a weight settling in her stomach. "Bob, no. I can promise you, he did mean it." She had to look away suddenly, pained by the hope in his eyes.

"But how do you know any more than I do?"

She could sense his frustration and confusion, and finally looked back up at him. "Do you trust me?"

He stopped short, brow furrowing in confusion. "… Lotte, yes. I've always trusted you. I've trusted you since we were kids, you've always been one of my best friends. I know there are times when I couldn't see you and talk to you as much as I wanted to, but you know I've always cared about you and known you cared about…" Bobby trailed off, studying her face again.

Charlotte let him, hoping he could read the sincerity with which she was speaking every word.

He stepped in, gently taking her around the waist. She flushed, feeling ever-so-fourteen again.

"I trust you," he finished, "because you came to this party… just to tell me this, didn't you?"

Charlotte nodded. That had, after all, been her sole intention so long ago. It only broke her heart that it took her fighting and clawing her way back through time to make good on what she had set out to do in the first place.

"… Even though I know you don't like parties. And… you came to my house with face products you bought yourself, and didn't even defend yourself when I got mad," he continued, seeming to marvel over each new realization.

"Not entirely your fault," she gave a forced chuckle. "I wouldn't have understood either, had I been in your place."

Suddenly Bobby's face fell, and he pulled her in closer. "… I thought you were making fun of me, and that's when I… I made that comment." He swallowed. "About… your weight. And I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to be cruel, I just didn't understand—"

Charlotte reached up and placed a gentle finger against his soft lips. It was ironically the same thing he'd have done to her earlier in the evening just before their first kiss.

Bobby's eyes continued to plead forgiveness even after he obediently stopped speaking.

"You made it up to me a little while ago. Remember? You said I look nice."

He reached up to move her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. "Not just nice. Beautiful."

Charlotte felt a knot in her throat that she tried to swallow down before attempting to smile. "Promise me you'll mean that forever, and that I can hold you to it. Even if we don't see each other for a long time, or you… grow up and marry someone else."

Bobby chuckled, so blissfully unaware of what lay ahead. What she wouldn't give to be in that position again herself. "Lotte, I've always thought it. So I'm pretty sure I always will."

She smiled, giving his hand a squeeze. It was something she needed to hear him say, even if she already believed it. She believed it from the one night he'd spent in that dive of a motel making her feel that beauty, and from the words he'd spoken to her, in the end, across whatever time and space came between the living and the dead.

But Charlotte was losing track, yet again, of what she had to be sure of before she left. "Bob, what I just told you, I mean. Mr. Disney is serious about this… I just feel really sure," she added on for good measure. "Just at least think about getting started now to find some backup work, or… doing any other things you think may help." She didn't have the heart to bring up his acne again.

His eyes slid away from hers for a moment – a moment in which she could practically feel the hurt, the anger, coursing through his veins. But this time, she knew it wasn't directed at her, but at either Mr. Disney or himself. Though she truly hoped not the latter.

Finally Bobby nodded. "…O-Okay. I will."

"Promise me."

"I promise. Now… let's stop thinking about this stuff, just for the rest of the night." He suddenly tugged at her hand, pulling her behind a nearby tree.

Charlotte knew that the talk about Mr. Disney was the only thing she was supposed to let herself change about tonight. Next on the agenda had been to continue on with the script as it had been, which meant they would be going inside to eat cake before he would walk her back outside to Aunt Lila's car at ten.

And… it all would be over.

Maybe that thought was what made this moment something she couldn't resist.

"You know what, Lotte?" Bobby whispered, pulling her to him, which caused her nose to wrinkle with delight. She could feel his warm breath against her ear. Somewhere inside her was apparently enough of her fourteen-year-old self to still relish this moment like a giddy schoolgirl. "I really mean it, I dunno I've ever had a girl go through so much just for me. Why didn't I see it before?"

With those words, he blew her to pieces.

Would this, now, be a strong enough impression to lead him back to her one day? Maybe even all the way to North Carolina to find her before he'd have the thought to settle down with someone else?

 _No. That's not what's important._

What was actually the most vital thing in the world right now was that she might have saved him. From turning to all the self-medicating to try to bind up his shattered self-confidence. From running away to New York where no one could find him. From destroying his own body so much that his heart – battered and broken beyond belief at only thirty-one years old – would lose the ability to go on beating.

She rested her ear against that heart now, closing her eyes and taking comfort in the sound she could never take for granted, coming from him. But after a few seconds, Bobby lifted her chin, his lips finding hers in the darkness of the tree's shade, the two of them hidden by the probing light of the moon.

And, just in case, she kissed him like it was her very last chance.


	9. Just Always Be Waiting For Me

Charlotte practically jumped back across the threshold at the end of the party, when Bobby had taken her arm to escort her out of the room – and back to 1968. She caught herself on the opposite wall, having to pause long enough to allow the customary dizziness to settle.

It had worked. She'd done it. And what's more, she remembered doing it.

"So…" Charlotte spoke aloud to herself, looking up and down the hall. "…What did that change, and how will I know it?"

She rushed toward her work room, still chattering nervously. "Will I remember the way things were before? Of course I will, I do now. I remember both versions at once, is that normal?" she hurriedly pushed the door open and went in, looking around, forcing her mind to be still long enough to think.

As if by instinct, her feet turned around and carried her back down the hall to the costume archives. She turned on the flickering fluorescent light and went to the very back, making her way forward, noting all of Bobby's vacuum-sealed costumes.

 _Peter Pan, B. Driscoll, 1953_.

She pushed it back on the rack and kept going. If Bobby hadn't been fired by Disney, her first hope, then there would doubtlessly be more costumes after this, right?

She flipped through three times. Nothing past _Peter Pan._

"O-Okay. Then you were fired after all, Bobby. But I warned you, I gave you time to find other work, to buffer your fall." She turned the light off and left the warehouse, thinking what to do next.

If she had truly altered time, then why weren't new memories settling in past the initial one from the re-do of the party? She paused, wondering if she needed to be still for the replacement thoughts to trickle down.

Bracing against the wall, she leaned her head back and waited.

The firing was still there in her mind from when it had happened, yes. She remembered going to Bobby's house. Then there was the move to North Carolina. The letters from him. Johnny Fedora. Joanna and Hazel. The drug-induced birthday card.

"Wait, no!" Charlotte shook her head to shake the memory loose. "That one doesn't belong. It didn't happen. It wouldn't have, not this time."

But the conversation she'd had with Aunt Lila about Bobby's drug-binge followed. Then came the letter about Marilyn Jean, his new wife.

Tears smarted at Charlotte's eyes as she ran through the rest of the memories, horrified.

She'd still come back to live with her mother after Aunt Lila had died, of course. She'd met Bobby at the motel. They had still been intimate, and the memories brought a flush to her cheeks. Then they'd lost touch again, and he'd left for New York. And…

"And what then? Bobby, I told you exactly what to do, I went back and fixed it for you! I made it so you'd know what to expect, so you'd make better decisions!" Charlotte took her dress in both fists, feeling powerful enough to rip it in half with her anger.

"But you're not dead. Tell me you're not dead, and not here. That you're up in New York, but you stopped the drugs. You got medical help. Something happened, something had to happen. Bobby!" she called out, hearing her voice echoing through the halls of the empty building. "Bobby, are you here?"

She was met by silence. But silence was good. Silence meant that surely he was still alive. He was living in New York, thriving, with the art community or a new wife. Maybe even on Broadway. Right? Was that a new memory she was getting, or just a wishful thought?

 _Oh please, be okay, Bobby. You have to be okay. You don't know how hard I fought for this._

Tentatively, Charlotte made her way back to her work room, begging a sudden tumble of new memories to land on the floor of her brain. Maybe it just took time, and all of those from the past she remembered simply hadn't faded away yet.

She opened her work room door again, closing her eyes and taking a few deep, calming breaths. How would she know for sure? Should she call Mrs. Driscoll? She had to do something, had to know.

"Lotte."

Giving a small shriek, Charlotte backed against the newly closed door, then reached over to flip on the light.

There he stood. Bobby. Beautiful, soulful-eyed, steady Bobby.

She beamed, rushing toward him and landing in his arms. All the air in her lungs seemed to let out at once.

"I'm here, Lotte. It's okay."

But something didn't feel right about the embrace. Bobby's arms were around her at once, but the standard warmth wasn't there. A little of it was, but not the same amount that always had been before. Something about him felt as airy as it did solid.

She blinked in confusion.

"I heard you calling for me."

His voice sounded clear enough, though. Maybe she was just being overly paranoid. "I was calling for you. I… were you in the building?" she asked hopefully. "What were you doing here? Visiting me from New York? Is that still where you live?"

Bobby paused. "I was living there, yes. But now, I… don't really live anywhere, Lotte. Because I'm not really living, see…" he spoke the last sentence delicately.

Charlotte's head jerked up. She felt sick to her stomach.

"It took me a little while to figure it all out and remember what happened. It seems I came here first thing, back to Disney. And I saw you. I'm so happy I did…"

She pulled away from him and began backing away, averting her eyes from his face as the bile rose in her throat. She couldn't stand to stare into his eyes while realizing that every bit of it, every last tear and second spent on fighting so hard to change the past – was for absolutely nothing.

"You are dead," she mumbled. "You're still dead, Bobby, and I want to know why."

"Lotte, I-"

"Why?!" she turned and picked up the decorative plate propped up on the end table beside her, throwing it at the door in a fit of rage she hadn't experienced in years. "Why would you do this?! Why, when I gave you every opportunity not to?!"

Completely undone, Charlotte went next for her work table, clearing her work pile in one swipe, sending a flurry of multi-colored fabrics to the floor. Next, she reached for the pair of pants lodged in her sewing machine, ripping them out and snapping the needle they were held on.

"Do you know what you were to me, to so many people?!" Charlotte's surge of fury come to a climax as she went to pick up the machine itself, feeling a perverse delight course through her veins at the thought of watching it shatter into a thousand pieces of plastic and metal coils.

"Charlotte."

Bobby suddenly appeared out of nowhere, inches from her face and somehow between her and the sewing machine. His eyes were uncharacteristically hard and his voice seemed to boom in her ear.

Charlotte left off her destruction, falling back onto the loveseat behind her and breaking into a sob. As many tears as she had cried over these last few weeks – and collectively they had been more than she'd cried in all of the twenty-nine years prior – she was sure that, this time, they would never stop coming.

Ever.

But after a few moments, the tears did quieten as her frayed nerves were soothed numb by the hand that brushed through her hair gently.

"Bobby," she murmured finally, not opening her eyes. "Why?"

"Bob," he corrected her. She could hear the smile in his voice, which still sounded so strangely present. Very unlike the first time he had appeared to her in her work room, when he'd seemed to only be a shadow of a person.

But the poison of Charlotte's anger seeped in once again, and she swallowed its bitter flavor down, still not daring to look at him.

"I know you're angry with me. You have every right to be."

"Angry?" She snorted, forcing herself to finally look over at Bobby. "I went back in time. I thought if I could tell you about Disney, if I could prepare you ahead of it, you wouldn't have been so devastated. You wouldn't have taken the leap into… into whatever it was we all lost you to."

Bobby nodded slowly. "I know."

She blinked. "You know? So… you watched me break that memory loop of the party, and it changed nothing at all?"

He sighed and closed his eyes, seeming to search hard for words to explain. "In my life, I only remembered the version you changed it to - where you had those words written on your hand, and you went on to tell me I was in danger of being fired by Disney. It wasn't until after I died that I was able to see both versions - the one I had always remembered, and the first one you'd... apparently changed. Overlapping each other, like…" he sat quietly for a moment. "… I can't explain how it is on this side of things. It's almost like, time is no longer exists. You can see what lays outside of it, different ways things could have happened. And so now, I know what you tried to do. And... I know why."

"Then why didn't it work? If, in your lifetime, you remembered what I said…"

Bobby reached up and rested a hand on Charlotte's wet cheek, the corners of his mouth turning up in a small smile. "Lotte, this wasn't about Disney. It wasn't about anyone else, really. It was about me, and some very bad decisions. But that's what you have to understand - _I_ made them. No one else did it for me. I mean, yeah, I was hurt by Mr. Disney…" he shook his head… "but the things I did weren't just due to being fired from the Studio. It wasn't due to any one thing. I just… messed up, and by the time I was able to realize how bad it had gotten, it was too late…" he trailed off.

Charlotte looked down. "I really thought I could save you. I knew I could if I went back and held the caution flags right in front of your face…"

"You couldn't save me from myself, Lotte. Only I could do that, myself and God. And I obviously didn't do a lot of listening to Him during the times when it would have made the most difference." He paused. "I made a lot of people pay for that. My parents. You. All my other friends. Marilyn." Charlotte watched as he swallowed hard, and whispered, "Dan… Aaren… Kathy…"

Bringing her hand up to cover his, which still rested on her cheek, Charlotte felt her heart break all over again at the sound of Bobby's children's names - children who would never know their father the way she wished they could have. Before she could address this, however, she was distracted by the fact that his hand seemed to be cooler than it had been moments earlier. "You know, you were... a little warm a few minutes ago. But now, you're growing cooler again. How... does this work, you being here?"

Bobby pulled his hand back and began massaging the other one with it, as though trying to rub more warmth in. "It's hard to explain, but... think of it as, there are rules in the spirit world. I've been able to figure them out, little at a time I guess, and I'm actually having to work pretty hard right now - and really focus - in order to be this present. It feels almost like... I have a battery, and I can pull a little harder on it at times when I really want to appear more real. But... it does wind down after awhile. I have to go soon, probably even tonight." He slid closer to her. "But I do think I'm ready to see what's next. I wish I could move myself away from the Studio so I could see my kids, my parents. But being here with you, that's good too. I knew that after all I'd put you through unintentionally over the past few weeks, you needed me now."

"Bob, I've always needed you," Charlotte felt the tightness in her voice. She placed her hand on his cheek, then on his shoulder and down to take his hand firmly, as if it might keep him tethered to her longer.

"You've always had me, Lotte," he squeezed her hand. "Sure, the timing didn't ever seem to work out for us to be together the way we'd wanted to be. And I don't know why. But that doesn't mean that, just because we didn't find that traditional brand of 'happiness' here on earth, we were any less connected in the end."

Charlotte listened intently to his words - words she could feel slowly untying the knots inside her stomach.

"You've meant something incredible to me for years. My entire life, I knew I could always come back here, to you. To my friend. It was like… coming home. I remembered you everywhere I went. That's what true connection is, you know?" He studied her face earnestly. "I can see it so clearly now. I always thought that the one way you could be most attached to people was through these labels like wife, girlfriend, best friend, family… but those labels aren't the sole measure of closeness. They're still important, don't get me wrong... but they're not the only force that binds people."

Fresh tears began to sting Charlotte's eyes. "I didn't get nearly enough time with you. Not by half. And it's true that I could probably never have enough time with you, Bobby, but… I always felt so much of my heart went untended because of that. You were the only one who ever really had it."

Bobby's eyes shone. "I know, Lotte. I can see now just how much I really didn't know about the way you loved me. And I'm sorry we didn't have time. I really am. But you've got to remember, this isn't it. What's here on this earth, what we see and learn as living people, it's not all there is. And the longer I'm… this way… the more I can feel it. There is more, and it's saved up for later. Well… later for you, but it's about to open up wide for me."

He began to look upward slightly, as though he were suddenly seeing and hearing things Charlotte couldn't. It made her immeasurably sad, but also curious. "What kinds of things are you sensing?"

Bobby seemed to think for a moment, his eyes taking on a new sparkle. He finally stood up, reaching out a hand to take hers. "Come on. Let's go outside to the courtyard, I want to show you if I can."

Charlotte willingly gave him her hand, standing up to follow him.

The two of them made their way down the corridors and hallways of Disney Studios, along the same paths they'd walked together for years. Finally, they emerged in the courtyard. Bobby lead Charlotte to a spot close to the fountain, where they'd shared their first kisses, and came behind her to slip his arms around her waist, holding her close. The feeling was something like home, and it was bigger to her than it had been in all of their previous embraces combined.

His breath was warm in her ear, just as it had been when he was alive. It tickled, and felt wonderful. "Do you see?"

She felt his arms tighten around her as though he were trying to hang on to something from this earth. But she could now hear the tin, the hollowness in his voice once again. It was increasing. He was losing his energy.

"The stars – they're beautiful," her breath was taken when she was able to focus on the tiny dots above and how they seemed so innumerable… so endless. She had seen many starry nights in her lifetime, but tonight, the orbs seemed almost fluid, full of motion. "Is that where you'll be?"

"Yes. I can feel the pull, I can see it. And, Lotte, it's beautiful. One day, you'll know." She felt his head rest on hers. "And when that time comes, and you're about to find out, I'll be there. Waiting for you. I promise."

Charlotte smiled, staring mesmerized at the dizzying, dancing sky.

She and Bobby had danced. They had laughed, and cried, and been through so much together during his short lifetime. Would all those memories just go away? Would _he_ just go away?

No. He would simply be in another room of time. Having untold adventures, gathering vast amounts of perspective, learning so many of the secrets that had probably kept him up wondering at night during his human years. But most importantly, he would be resting. He needed that. And for all the days and months and years to come that she would spend missing him, she could be confident that she would see him again.

So, with that knowledge, she could let him enjoy himself there… and she could set about enjoying herself here. Couldn't she?

"I love you, Bobby. And it's okay th—"

Charlotte reached down to where his arms had been looped around her waist.

They were gone.

His small warmth had disappeared, and left her standing alone.

Turning quickly, she surveyed the courtyard, her eyes scanning furiously for a glimpse of him walking away, wandering off toward a bright light…? A door?

But no… there was no trace of Bobby. He was just simply not there anymore.

Taking a shaky breath and swallowing hard, Charlotte closed her eyes. "You've gone on then, Bobby. And it's okay. You head on, where the air's sweet, and breathe it in. While you're gone, I promise I'll be all right. And your family will be too."

The most profound peace that could ever be suddenly settled over Charlotte's soul. Bobby might have been part of the reason for it – but not entirely. For there had to be Someone out there who had orchestrated this amazing story. She could feel it. Someone she had always believed in, but had not necessarily understood to be so involved in the little details of humans' lives. But this Someone must have been holding every bit of this in the palm of His hand the whole time - her, Bobby. So much of it was still difficult to grasp, but she knew she could rest there.

Charlotte smiled and opened her eyes, looking around the courtyard for one final time that night. Then she turned to head back to sanctuary of her little work room. There, she would find her purse and keys. In the parking lot, she would find her Corvaire, which she would take home to her mother. And maybe later, she would get around to other things, like a certain letter that had been left in the wastebasket in the corner of her bedroom.

After that, who knew? For the first time, the idea filled her with excitement.


	10. And Straight On Til Morning

_Six months later…_

It wasn't easy for Charlotte to know exactly how to carry forward Bobby's wishes in regards to his children. They had gone away to live with other people, and she had great difficulty accessing Marilyn. So the best she could do for his kids and former wife was to offer up faithful prayers for them, for strength and happiness and peace. And that, someday, Bobby's son and daughters would come to learn about their father and his golden heart – in spite of his weaknesses.

Charlotte did begin to visit Mrs. Driscoll at least once a week to check on the older couple, as Clete's health was truly failing, and it was obvious that Isabelle needed the emotional support.

"It's good to see you so often these days," Bobby's mother smiled over at Charlotte one evening as they sat on the porch together. "Somehow it feels like I can keep a part of Bobby coming back - that part of him that was whole and happy, before… you know."

Charlotte returned her smile, earnestly. That was just as Bobby would have wanted it.

By this time, Mrs. Driscoll had pulled on some old connections to launch an investigation into Bobby's disappearance. She continued to update Charlotte during each of their visits, though she sadly had no news yet. Charlotte, of course, knew very well where Bobby had gone, and part of her felt wrong for keeping the truth from his mother. But the other part of her knew that, in time, all would be revealed. She had to trust that that moment would come exactly when it was supposed to, and not a moment before. If she had learned her lesson about anything so far, it was that sticking your hand into the natural order of things never went well.

Strangely enough, it was a lesson that gave her a new sense of freedom and rest.

Freedom and rest seemed to be following Charlotte alot during this new season in her life. She thought over the blessing as she lay in a beach chair, listening to the waves and feeling the sun's rays on her face.

 _Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you_  
 _Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you_  
 _But in your dreams whatever they be_  
 _Dream a little dream of me_

"You and your moody music," Opal chuckled as she came back over to sit beside Charlotte, shielding the sun with her hand as she peered across the sand to watch Maggie building sandcastles out of her vast stockpile of pails, only to demolish them minutes later and start over. It was a process that had lasted all afternoon, but it was impossible to tire of watching.

"Hey, Mama Cass is a revolutionary, you know," Charlotte protested. "She represents a new form of beauty for us women. Even if I'm thankfully still a whole lot smaller than she is, she gives me hope!"

"You have plenty of hope, Charlotte Leyton," Opal reached a perfectly pedicured foot over to nudge Opal's. "Oh…" she winced. "By the way, I'm really, really sorry about Arthur. I had no idea he was going to show up for your date as drunk as a fish," she sighed. "It figures, doesn't it? Finally get you to talk to a man, and he acts like an idiot."

Charlotte laughed, remembering that fatal night last weekend. "Yeah, well. I know a thing or two about being around drunks. And besides, it's a good thing it's not all up to you to find my Prince Charming. I have my own eye on someone."

Opal sat up straight, staring over. "You do?! Who?!"

"I don't know if I want to tell you," Charlotte leaned back in her chair again, popping her sunglasses back down over her eyes. "At least not until Monday. I have to see how tonight goes first," she smirked.

"You have another date?!" Opal dissolved into giggles. "Two weekends in a row! I'm so proud of you! To what do we owe this?"

Charlotte gave a little shrug. "I don't know. I guess I figure, life is short, and it's really high time I enjoy myself doing something beyond sitting behind a sewing machine til midnight at the Studio. Plus, as much as I thought I already knew about fashion, imagine my mother knowing more than I do. She's been helping me come up with some pretty good date ensembles! I guess I got my talents from her."

Opal smiled. "I'm glad you're going a little easier on her these days."

"I am too," Charlotte sighed. "It's kind of freeing, when I remember she's just a human being who tends to make bad decisions. I guess I've come to realize it happens to the best of us. Of course, there are some bad decisions that can really hack your life to pieces, and when that happens… it's gotta be hard to know how to get up and dust yourself off from it all." Her eyes traveled toward the blue, cloudless sky. "So I figure, my mom's probably been hard enough on herself during her life. The least I can do is show her that her mistakes don't make her a terrible person. And who knows? Maybe if I start treating her like a better person, she'll start feeling like one, and then finally start acting like it. It's not too late for her to realize she doesn't have to have booze to make her who he is."

"Very compassionate. And very true." Opal leaned over to turn the volume down slightly on the transistor radio, despite the Beatles song that was just starting. "Oh, I meant to ask you. Did you ever manage to catch your dad at that number you tried calling?"

"Yes!" Charlotte sat up, not believing she'd forgotten to tell her friend the latest bit of news. "We're getting together next Friday for dinner. Stay up late as you can, because I'll probably be calling you afterward." She fairly shuddered. "I don't know where to even start the conversation…"

"You'll figure it out, Lotte. Something tells me it'll come more naturally than you think. And besides, I think probably the thing your dad wants most is for you to just listen to him. I bet he has a lot to say." Opal pulled a fingernail file out of her bag. "So what time is your date tonight?"

"Oh, I don't know," Charlotte replied nonchalantly. "Whenever I show up. I'll have to trust my gut for the timing."

* * *

Four hours later, Charlotte took a deep breath, got out of her car, and made her way up the stairs of the tiny apartment building. What was it he'd said? Number eighty-nine?

She truly hoped he'd be home. But somehow, she knew he would be.

Not wasting any more time, she found the door with the number eight-nine plastered on it, and promptly knocked.

After a moment, the door opened.

"Hi." Charlotte shifted. "I was hoping I might be in time for a chess lesson. Do you still offer those on a walk-in basis?"

Patterson's deep-set eyes crinkled as he broke into a warm smile. "I might be able to squeeze you in. And you're in luck, I was just on my way out for dinner. Want to join me? Afterward, we'll give you a skill assessment on the board."

Charlotte beamed. "Sounds like a party."

T H E

E N D

 **If one song from the time period could truly sum up Charlotte and Bobby's journey, it would be the one I'm going to leave you with. Bobby's friendship carried Charlotte from childhood to adulthood, and he taught her immeasurable things, even in his death, about forgiveness, love, and being true to yourself. For that, she would say she owed him both the sky and the moon.**

 _To Sir, With Love_

 _Those school girl days of telling tales_  
 _And biting nails are gone_  
 _But in my mind I know_  
 _They will still live on and on_

 _But how do you thank someone_  
 _Who has taken you from crayons to perfume?_  
 _It isn't easy, but I'll try_

 _If you wanted the sky_  
 _I would write across the sky in letters_  
 _That would soar a thousand feet high_  
 _To Sir, with love_

 _The time has come for closing books_  
 _And long last looks must end_  
 _And as I leave I know_  
 _That I am leaving my best friend_

 _A friend who taught me right from wrong_  
 _And weak from strong_  
 _That's a lot to learn, what_  
 _can I give you in return?_

 _If you wanted the moon_  
 _I would try to make a star_  
 _But I, would rather you let me give my heart_  
 _To Sir, with love_


	11. Background, References, Dedication

For anyone who does not know Bobby Driscoll's story – the real-life young man who brought to life Peter Pan in Disney's 1953 animated feature – please follow the Wikipedia link for a basic understanding:

wiki/Bobby_Driscoll

The Seamstress's Hidden Kiss has been a true labor of love from the moment I first envisioned it, not long after reading the story of Bobby Driscoll. It captivated my heart, shattered it to pieces, and offered the chance for me to process the grief-like feelings of someone I'd never had the opportunity to meet by way of writing this story.

However – because it is extremely important to me to honor Bobby's memory, and to honor and respect his living family – I want to write notes here regarding what in my story is fact, what is fiction, where I had to improvise in some instances, and expand on the sources I used to flesh out Bobby's personality.

Because so many people who knew Bobby years ago are now dead, I did have to rely somewhat on secondary sources, even though I used as many primary sources as I could get my hands on. I wasn't comfortable inventing an entire story told from his perspective because the human soul is so deep and complex I was truly afraid I wouldn't be able to do such a story justice. That's why I used Charlotte Leyton as my vehicle.

Charlotte, obviously, did not exist. In all likelihood (and to my disappointment, as I learned this _after_ I had already written a good deal), no one like her probably existed either. Come to find out (and thanks to someone who created an exhaustive timeline of Bobby's professional and personal life), Bobby had most of his costume fittings done at places such as Western Costume, etc. in the Burbank area. This leads me to believe Walt Disney might have contracted out for costuming needs in this era instead of having pieces sewn on-site. However, a costume designer named Alice Estes Davis did exist and work for Disney during this time, even if she passed off her designs to other costuming companies to craft. Therefore, it was a liberty I took to have a sewing pool of Disney's own seamstresses on-hand and in regular contact with Bobby. I tried to use as much of my wits in creating how that would work as possible, including a measuring crew that would work under the costume designer, a pool of seamstresses to actually put things together, and – as we saw in Lotte – a sort of supervisory seamstress to go back and fix errors, polishing the costume items up for use. Again, as much sense as this might make for other production studios of the time, it wasn't likely how things worked at Disney Studios in Burbank in the 50's and 60's.

All the facts surrounding Bobby's death in March of 1968 were kept true in my story. He did die of hardened arteries, brought on by years of drug use, and no one knew about his death for more than a year. He was buried as a pauper on New York's Hart Island two weeks after his death (in my story, this is why I had Bobby "show" Charlotte the experience of being on a ferry surrounded by the scent of death – many bodies were transported to Hart Island at once for interment).

Inventing Bobby's personality as a young man was a lot of fun, but I couldn't have done it without several sources. I have done some corresponding with Brian Keith O'Hara, who has been gathering information for more than a decade to one day write a biography of Bobby, and he has always been patient with my peppering of questions. He has spoken to many people who knew Bobby as a child, most of them good friends or acquaintances with whom it seems there was a consensus: Bobby was a very loving and cheerful soul. He enjoyed having fun, as most boys did, and he was very loyal to the people he loved. I tried to reflect this in his dealings with Charlotte in little ways by having him give her an affectionate nickname, bring her cookies, and pay attention to her birthday. Those seemed to me to be things Bobby would actually do for someone he cared about. However, I didn't want to make him seem any less a typical teenage boy who would have his awkward moments (such as when Lotte started crying during his visit to her house in Chapter Two) and also his frustrations (hence his anger about Lotte making a big deal of his acne). We can also deduce he was a romantic spirit when his teenage love letters to Patricia Nolan are read. I pulled a lot on this to influence his later letters to Charlotte when she moved to North Carolina.

I kept Charlotte as something of an "underdog" character for two reasons: firstly, Bobby, as stated by his mother in her Florence Epstein interview, always had a heart to befriend those who didn't fit society's highest expectations. I think he would have worked hard to show Lotte that she truly did matter, and he would be able to see the truly beautiful and exciting things about her personality. Secondly, my creation of Lotte as a plus-sized character was influenced by my own battle with weight. Being overweight in modern society is taboo enough, but it was far more so in an era where most young women maintained a slim figure (even if it is agreed upon that "slim" didn't mean quite the unhealthy state it does now). Even though I'm sure Bobby was very normal in that he would have preferred to moon over "the pretty girls," I believe he could have found the coy attractiveness in Charlotte if anyone could.

There is a lot of controversy surrounding the big Driscoll-Disney Separation, and I tried to handle it here with respect. The fact is, even though Bobby's acne has been given in many sources as the primary reason for the early contract dissolving between him and Walt Disney, I've also heard other theories. My personal feeling is that it was probably a little more complicated than that, and may have resulted from the culmination of many factors. But since I am no authority on the subject, I chose, in my story, to make use of the most commonly accepted acne theory. The story goes, it was after Bobby heard rumors (and it has been mentioned that at least one of those rumors stemmed from Hedda Hopper's gossip radio show), he went to Disney to find out for himself if they were true, and that is when he was dismissed. I received this recounting of events from reading a few articles, and from talking some to Brian Scott O'Hara, who did some research regarding this. We do know it was sometime after the release of _Peter Pan_ (which was supposedly intentional), but we're not given an exact date for it. Therefore, I speculated in using March of 1953. I want to mention here that I in no way wish to villainize Walt Disney for any decision he made, as he has his own supporters, and even if I may not have agreed with how he went about things, I don't believe he was a bad person. The frustration toward him you see in Charlotte is purely how the situation would probably have looked through the eyes of an adolescent girl who adored Bobby. The actual words used by Mr. Disney and the way in which Charlotte found out about the upcoming firing were all creations of myself.

I tried to stay faithful to Bobby's timeline in regards to which movies and shows he would have been working on at what time, and it is true that during the post-Disney years, Bobby did a lot of stage work. I mention this in Lotte's recounting of Bobby's projects, communicated to her in my story through his letters. I also tried to stay faithful to what I've heard regarding the years when Bobby's early drug-use would have been at an all-time high. Needless to say, the correspondence from him to Charlotte including the "high" birthday/Christmas card, were products of my imagination.

Above all, I wanted to honor Bobby's three children, and the mother of those children. It is true that, per Bobby's own words from an interview in 1961, his marriage ended for more reasons than just his drug use, but that's the family's business and I chose not to go into alot of detail or speculation here. I do believe Bobby loved his children with all his heart, and he did mention hoping to regain custody of his son in another news article just before he went to Chino. I'm sure he loved his daughters just as much, but we have to remember the context of era here and how it was not as socially acceptable for men to have custody of their children after the odd divorce, period, but particularly girls. I hope to have treated this with the utmost respect.

There were two other significant relationships Bobby had after his divorce, but by all accounts, both (Suzanne Stansbury and Sharon Morrill) were based on shared drug use and art.

Perhaps my very biggest liberties taken were about the Disney Studios in Burbank. I do know from reading an article or two that there was a company cafeteria, but beyond that, I know nothing and could find nothing about the actual layout of the buildings. Therefore, "Hallway C" and the "banquet hall" on it were my own inventions and were used speculatively. I have no doubt that, could I look at a layout today and hear from someone what it was actually like to work at Disney in those days, I'd make a lot of changes. But I did the best I could with this part.

The "party" in which Charlotte and Bobby shared their first kiss was also my invention. There may or may not have been a company-wide celebration of _Peter Pan_ 's success, and since I really wasn't sure, I just made one up.

The conversation had about the bullying Bobby experienced in public high school for a couple years, however, are based on actual evidence and word of mouth.

I also used my imagination regarding the motel Bobby stayed in after his release from Chino in 1962. The details surrounding this part of Bobby's story are always a little elusive, so I just assumed that he might have needed a place to go short-term before he could secure himself an apartment and a job upon release. From what I have read, there isn't much indication that he went back home to his parents' house at this point, but he could have. The things he said to Charlotte regarding his regrets and why he had chosen the things he had during his lifetime are also speculative on my part, but done very carefully. We know from one of Bobby's final pieces of correspondence – his letter to Truman Capote – that he didn't seem to be interested at all in blaming anyone for the choices he had made, yet wanted to try to be truthful about his life's story. I also drew quite a bit here on my own experience from spending the last five years in the substance abuse recovery field, from the things former addicts said they thought and felt during their darkest of times. Substance abuse is, for sure, a complicated and destructive animal.

Real people mentioned in the story include: Dean Stockwell (known to have been a friend of Bobby's at some point), "Sherwood" (a name mentioned in photos taken of Bobby and in some correspondence between him at Pat, presumably a school friend but I am not absolutely sure); Pat Nolan (Bobby's young-teens girlfriend), Isabelle and Clete Driscoll, Marilyn Jean Rush, Walt Disney, and Alice Estes Davis. Any of Bobby's interactions with them in this story are purely fictional.

Fictional persons: Charlotte, her mother Marlyss, Aunt Lila, Opal, Patterson, Aunt June Ann and Uncle Curtis, Joanna and Hazel, and Charlotte's father.

Now for the fun part! I used a lot of musical references in this story, because I am passionate about music and believe it plays a tremendous part in our memories and emotions. I wanted to flesh this story out by giving my readers that connection between Charlotte and her thoughts and feelings. The music I referenced is as follows:

Chapter One  
Ode to Billie Joe – Bobbie Gentry ( watch?v=xYIkOyooATY)

Chapter Three  
The Sun Aint Gonna Shine Anymore – The Walkers Brothers (  
watch?v=xYIkOyooATY)

Chapter Four  
Til I Waltz Again With You – Teresa Brewer ( watch?v=WZkTC0YmfVY)  
Stormy Monday Blues – Billy Eckstine ( watch?v=WZkTC0YmfVY)

Chapter Five  
Johnny Fedora and Alice Bluebonnet – The Andrews Sisters ( watch?v=uFkwGiBtvEI)

Chapter Six  
For What It's Worth – Buffalo Springfield ( watch?v=DIoKr9VDg3A)  
It's A Beautiful Morning – The Rascals ( watch?v=cJqjlFGZxtE)

Chapter Seven  
Just Ask the Lonely – The Four Tops ( watch?v=4-P95D-7HIk)

Chapter Ten  
To Sir, With Love – Lulu ( watch?v=JOVQ4vAmM7Y)

It goes without saying that this story is dedicated to Bobby. And, even though they will probably never read it (and it makes me perilously anxious to imagine they ever would!), it's also dedicated to those remaining who knew him, and also to his children and grandchildren. I hope my take on Bobby's bright personality and loving spirit honors them as much as any work of fiction written by someone who probably only had half the story ever can.

But, most of all, the story is dedicated to the One for whom I do everything. This was written as a fantasy story, so it would not have been an easy feat to weave my faith into it as deeply as other genres, but in the end, as I attempted to point out in Charlotte's final thoughts, it all comes back to Him. It was fun to write Charlotte and Bobby's story in this way, though my actual belief is that Bobby spent no time as a ghost at all. By all accounts, he had a very deep faith of his own that undergirded him throughout his life, despite periods of darkness and bad decisions. I like to believe he returned to those roots during the last hours of his life, and was immediately, upon his death, taken into the loving embrace of He who wipes tears and makes all things new. The very source of the Love Bobby fought long and hard throughout his life to receive.

Thank you so much for reading.


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